


Bullet With Butterfly Wings

by yangji



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Assault, Blood and Violence, Drinking & Talking, Gemshipping, Multi, Recreational Drug Use, eclipseshipping - Freeform, nb!Malik
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-08-10 18:15:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20139844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yangji/pseuds/yangji
Summary: Two siblings with trying pasts struggle to find their place in a world that continues to test them.Bakhura, the adopted brother of the Ishtar family, has always held himself himself to a higher standard than others and it's destroyed him. A kleptomaniac trying to save what's been lost, he meets an angel who turns his life upside down.Malik, finally on the mend after years of treacherous mental health issues and drug abuse, can't shake their yearning for acceptance. But the discovery of an innate power leaves them questioning their own identity and fighting to change.[Will update tags as chapters post.]





	1. The Wizard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tale of first meetings and discovered powers. A Halloween party sets the stage for a new story.

The thrumming bass of an EDM song and two obnoxious honks of a 1970 Ford Mustang Boss 302 announced Malik Ishtar's presence.

Bakhura stepped out onto his porch, threw the purple muscle car a scowl and locked the front door. Malik honked again and cackled when Bakhura jumped in surprise. He took the passenger’s seat as was customary and punched his adoptive sibling in the arm as the door closed.

“You’re an ass.”

“Where’s your costume?” Malik ignored the insult.

Bakhura glanced over. Black velvet cat ears sat stark against the fellow Egyptian’s blonde hair. They had kohl not only around their eyes but across their cheeks in three thick lines on each side. Their outfit was latex that shined bright even in the weak moonlight and squeaked as Malik shifted gears. Though he couldn’t see it, Bakhura would have bet five thousand yen Malik was sitting on a cat tail. Catching Bakhura’s gaze from the corner of their eye, Malik brought a limp fist to their face.

“_Nyan_. Do you like it?”

“You look ridiculous,” Bakhura said.

“Yeah, well, I figured you would be a spoilsport on the best holiday ever, so I got you something.” At the next stop, Malik pulled a plastic bag from the back seat. They threw it at their brother as traffic resumed.

Bakhura rolled his eyes. Reaching into the bag, he put a hot pink pamphlet on the dashboard, pocketed the lighter—“That’s mine!” Malik protested—and then pulled out his gift.

“Like hell I’m wearing this!” he bellowed.

“Come on, Bakhura! We’re going to a costume party on _Halloween_ and if you don’t have a costume, you don’t get in. Read the pamphlet!” Malik slapped a hand on the crumpled paper for emphasis. It floated off of the dashboard into Bakhura’s lap.

_MILLENNIUM. Halloween Launch Party! Monster mash the night away with your fellow freaks and geeks! No costume? No admission! Doors open at 9. _

Bakhura scoffed at the black and white zombie with a smile bigger than any zombie had the right to possess. What could it be so happy about? Being dead couldn't be all that great. Grumbling, he shoved the headband on.

“See? It even matches your signature jacket.” If Malik’s smile told Bakhura anything, it screamed that Malik was pleased with themself.

“Yeah, yeah, but I’m not taking the pitchfork.” He shoved the accessory and pamphlet back in the bag, then reached up again, flapping his hands blindly until he found the horns. He fingered the pointed edge. The backs of his ears were already throbbing from the unfamiliar pressure.

“Well, don’t blame me if they don’t let you in for the low effort,” Malik's comment was punctuated by the squeak of their outift as their shrugged. They pulled the car into a parking lot and counted their blessings when they quickly found a spot against the leftmost wall, next to a compact sedan. Another car driving past honked at them before speeding away to continue its own search for a free space.

The younger sibling checked the time on the car’s clock. 10:07.

“We’ve still got some time. You bring the stuff?” Malik took off their seatbelt and looked at Bakhura with raised brows.

“Yeah, I got it. You got the blunt?” Bakhura pulled a baggie from jacket pocket and popped open the glovebox, removing a rolling tray. Malik handed him a cigarillo—“A Backwoods, really? You couldn’t get a White Owl?”—and threw the spare cigar into the glovebox before closing it with a sarcastic, "You're _welcome_."

“Play something. And none of that EDM shit.”

Bakhura could hear Malik’s eyes roll. They turned on the radio and skipped straight to the hard rock channel to avoid further arguing. Bakhura sung under his breath as he worked, splitting the cigar down the middle and dumping the contents outside of the window. The herb was already broken down, so he shoveled it onto the now empty tobacco leaf and licked it to seal it shut again. When he finished, he fished the pilfered lighter from his other pocket and lit the blunt.

Malik looked at the time again. 10:09. They let out a low whistle. “I don’t know how you do that so damn fast. You even pearled it.”

Smoke coiled out of the smirk of Bakhura’s mouth and lapped at his chin as he slumped against the door. He held up his hands and wiggled his fingers. “These are the hands of a pro.”

Malik's mouth wavered in a grimace. “Yeah, a pro who doesn’t know how to keep—” They choked at the violet eyed glare Bakhura shot them.

“Keep what?” he grumbled.

“Keep… keep those ashes off my leather seats! If you burn a hole in my seat, I swear to Ra, use the damn ashtray!”

They continued to bicker at each other while smoking. Once the roach was too small to comfortably pinch between two fingers, Malik snuffed it out in the ashtray and Bakhura sprayed the air freshener stashed in the middle console. The siblings piled out of the car, trailed by wisps of smoke. Bakhura could see now that Malik did indeed have a cat tail.

The building was low, all black with a golden sign that winked MILLENNIUM to the cars whizzing past. Bass drummed through the walls to the line outside illuminated by rotating spotlights. The wait was short but Bakhura could see several groups of people following behind them; Malik had not been the only one to decide to show up fashionably late.

Not that it would matter if Bakhura couldn’t get past the bouncer.

“Bit of a minimal effort, don’t you think?” he asked while looking back and forth from Bakhura’s ID to his face. His own skin was painted green with plastic bolts sticking out of his neck and brown hair stuck straight up off of his head.

“The pamphlet didn’t say anything about effort,” Bakhura retorted as Malik suppressed a giggle. The bouncer shot him a glare, then held out his hand for the entrance fee and they were in.

With the door open, they were blasted by cold air from overhead and intense vibrations all around that knocked their joints together. The entrance opened onto a railing that looked out over the dance floor with staircases down both sides. Three sides of the lower level had a bar, each backlit by alternating colors of red, blue, and gold that blinked in time with the music. Leaning over the railing, Bakhura could see the VIP section directly below, separated from the dance floor with golden velvet rope. Several couples and groups had already taken residence on the plush couches, fishing private bottles out of ice buckets. The reflective sheen of the dark walls gave the illusion of the space stretching into infinity, packed with throbbing bodies pressed into each other that shined from sweat beneath the low lights.

Malik tugged on his hand and dragged their brother down the stairs to the closest bar top. For the hundredth time since the two of them had started partying together, Bakhura was amazed by Malik’s ability to weave in and out of such a crowded place, walk up to a bar, and immediately receive service.

The bartender walked up and gave Malik a wink. “What can I get you, sugar?”

Bakhura leaned into Malik’s ear. “I want a double—”

They batted him away, brother's banal order memorized. “Yeah, a double old fashioned for the old man, I got it! Let me get a double old fashioned and a long island iced tea!” they yelled over the music as they leaned into the countertop.

She winked again, turned around as though to show off the fake wings wrapped around her shoulders, and was back before Bakhura realized she had left, placing their finished drinks on the counter. Malik blinked and placed the money on the counter. “Keep the change,” they mumbled. Then to Bakhura, “She deserves that tip. That was fast as hell.”

He nodded in agreement as he grabbed his drink to take a sip and almost choked on the immediate burn. “Yeah,” he coughed, “she definitely deserved it.” He massaged his throat with a weathered hand.

Malik laughed as the two of them moved to a standing table by the dance floor. They took up their usual stance, setting their drink on the table and sipping at it with crossed arms. Mauve eyes, made darker by their hooded eyelids, raked over the undulating crowd. Their Halloween outfit was completed by the smile that curled at the corner of their mouth like a Cheshire cat stalking the shadows for a mouse to catch.

Forced to sip at his drink to give his throat time to adjust, Bakhura’s mind drifted to the couches in the VIP section. He knew Malik could take all night to find the perfect prey, have a bit of fun, and then spend the rest of the time into the early morning dancing. It would be nice if Bakhura didn’t have to stand the whole time.

“What about—oh, no, she’s dressed like an M&M. What kind of fashion sense is that?” Malik looked affronted and their sigh was heavy in disappointment. Bakhura grunted and then again when Malik elbowed him in the ribs. “Come on. You never pick up anyone at the bar and I’m sure half the people here would at least give you a blow job in the bathroom if you asked nicely.”

“I’m not interested in anyone I can pick up at a bar, especially one that will suck a stranger's cock just because they're polite,” Bakhura retorted and elbowed them back. “What about that guy?” He nodded toward someone in the crowd. They were wearing leather pants similar to those Malik's last few flings had donned.

It was Malik’s turn to choke. “Are you kidding! That hair is a monstrosity! Red tips with yellow bangs? Can you imagine how much hair gel he has to use to get it to stick up like that?" They stuck their tongue out in disgust.

“You’re only looking to get laid. Why are you always so picky?”

“Because I have standards!” The music started to fade out. _Come, the wizard comes… _“And I have a body that just won’t quit, and I’ll be damned if I give it to a guy with no fashion sense like that!” They jerked a thumb toward Bakhura’s suggested conquest.

By the time Malik finished their declaration, the music was silent. Several people sniggered as Malik's voice rang out across the dance floor. Blushing, they whipped their hand back down to their drink before the aforementioned rejectee turned to look for the source of the outburst. The DJ’s excited voice finally came up over the speaker system.

“Welcome, all you ghouls and witches, to the Millennium Halloween Launch Party! I’m tonight’s DJ, Musician King, bringing you that funky music for you to rock out to all night. But before you party too hard, someone special would like to thank you all for coming out tonight! Give it up for the boss man!”

As the crowd hollered, a spotlight flashed on by the DJ’s booth and illuminated a man wearing a burgundy three piece suit who stood at attention. The light reflecting off his mane of white hair irradiated the plastic halo floating above his head. He looked out over the crowd with an amused smile and patiently waited for them to quiet as he cradled a microphone in one gloved hand.

“Thank you all very much for coming here tonight,” he began. A shiver ran through Bakhura's body at the sound of his voice, smoky as though those pouty lips were pressed against his ear and whispering a dirty secret, yet unwavering as it demanded the crowd's attention. “I have been working on opening this night club for a long time now, thus it is only fitting that it would open on my favorite holiday, a day in which we cast aside all things earthly and celebrate the supernatural!”

The crowd whooped again in excitement. Bakhura found himself clapping along with them as he stared up at the speaker. The man surveyed the crowd and when his gaze met Bakhura's, the corners of his mouth twitched before settling on a smile and his head tilted to the left. The sounds of everything around them melted away and twinkling blue eyes locked onto violet ones. All Bakhura could hear was that voice; all he could see were those eyes.

The DJ handed the man a glass filled with red wine which he then raised in a toast to the people below. “May you all go out into the night, onto the dance floor and rejoice in the spirit of Halloween! To Millennium!” His eyes did not leave Bakhura’s as he downed his drink.

Someone had turned the volume back on and the cheers of the crowd reached Bakhura's ears again. The spotlight blinked off and the music started back up. _...Drink his blood and he’s our leader… _Lungs aching, Bakhura let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. He finished his drink, hissing as it scorched it's way down his throat. It didn't help to distract from the voice that still drifted around his mind like tendrils of smoke.

“You all right?” Malik quirked an eyebrow at him over their own glass.

“Yeah, I’m good. Gonna grab another. You want one?”

“Still working on this one.”

He nodded and headed to the bar near the DJ booth, telling himself it was simply the closest bar; he definitely was not trying to run into anyone in particular. The same blonde woman stood behind the counter, passing out drinks to the clambering crowd. Bakhura was sure she had been manning the bar closest to the entrance, but then, he figured, they probably rotate around or something.

“Whatcha need, hun?”

Before Bakhura could order, a gloved hand appeared by his own on the counter and _that_ voice spoke up beside him.

“Mai, anything he orders will be on the house.”

Trying not to give away the excitement now pounding through his veins, he turned slowly to look at the man beside him. He was a full head shorter than Bakhura, so the first thing the taller man saw was a plastic halo attached to a headband and a bush of stark white hair. When their eyes met again, he realized the other man’s eyes weren’t just one color; his irises were hazel around the pupil, spreading out like a coffee stain into a blue so bright, Bakhura could only liken them to a photo of an iceberg he had seen in a magazine years before. An infinite blue untouched by man. The stranger was smiling at him, but he couldn’t tell what sort of emotion he read in those eyes.

“You got it, boss man. What can I get you?”

Forcing himself to break eye contact, Bakhura felt short of breath when he finally answered. “Double old fashioned, please.” She winked at him and was back just as quickly as before with his drink. He left her a tip.

His heart was pounding in his ears as he took a large gulp of his drink, wracking his brain for words that would facilitate some sort of conversation with his anonymous benefactor. When he finally settled on _thank you,_ he turned to find the man was walking away. Bakhura reflexively reached out to put a hand on his shoulder. Shit, was that cashmere?

“Hey, um, thanks for the open tab. Nice, uh, nice night club you got here.” His hand fell back down by his side and Bakhura mentally kicked himself for sounding like a demure idiot. He blamed it on the mixture of weed and alcohol.

The other man smiled softly again. “You’re very welcome. And thank you for the compliment. I was rather nervous, but the turnout has been much better than I expected.” Those multi-colored eyes swept out over the crowd again as he fiddled with his tie.

“Impressive for a podunk town like Domino. But don’t let me hold you up… You probably have a lot to do, what with being the boss and all.”

“Actually,” he started, and it was his turn to put a hand on Bakhura’s arm, “I gave you the open tab as an excuse to talk to you, and then chickened out at the last moment. I’d be more than happy to grab a drink with you if—”

“Yes.” Slow down there, Jethro, and let the man finish his sentence. Bakhura hoped the lights were dim enough to hide the blush that now burned across his cheeks. “Just let me check on my friend and tell them where I’m going. Be right back.”

The other man nodded, the corner of his mouth curling more, and Bakhura tried not to sprint back to the table. He needn’t have bothered; Malik and their long island were long gone. Eyes scanning the crowd, he couldn’t spot the blonde in the sea of multicolored hair. He would simply have to send a text and hope Malik bothered to check their phone. Back at the bar, the angel was still waiting and led the way past the velvet ropes and into the VIP section. From the balcony, Bakhura had seen the larger couches, but pressed into a corner was a round couch around a round table. It could be closed off from the rest of the club with a golden curtain. From this close up, Bakhura could see the matching golden stitching in the cushions.

They sat down and then Mai was standing beside them.

“Mai, the usual for me.”

“Got it, boss. And would Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome like a bottle or another double old fashioned?”

Bakhura took the last sip of his drink. “Another, please.”

“And keep them coming for as long as he’d like.”

Mai winked at them and walked away with the empty glass. Bakhura was less surprised this time when she returned not even thirty seconds later with a refill, an empty wine glass, and a wine bucket with bottle. She poured a red wine from the unmarked bottle and gave it to the other man then closed the curtain behind her.

Bakhura took a large gulp of his drink for liquid courage. He had gotten used to the burn. “So, do I have to call you Boss Man too or do you have a regular name?”

“Did I fail to mention that in my announcement? I practiced that all day and still forgot, so much for getting my name out there.” He pinched the bridge of his nose before realizing that he had yet to answer Bakhura’s question. “My name is Bakura Ryou.” He held out a hand.

Bakhura scoffed. “You gotta be shitting me.”

Ryou blinked owlishly and then looked at his glove, as though he expected literal shit to be on it. Finding none, he looked back up with his head cocked in confusion. “I’m sorry?”

Bakhura shook his head and then took Ryou’s hand in his own. “Ishtar Bakhura.”

Those two-toned eyes widened in surprise. “How interesting.” Then he smiled, the truest smile he had given that night. It scrunched the corner of his eyes together and the blue parts of his irises shimmered in the low light like jewels. That smile knocked the air right out of Bakhura’s chest. “Not only do we have complimentary costumes, but we have oddly similar names. If I believed in fate, I might say it had brought us together.”

Bakhura threw his head back and laughed. “Yes, fate has brought together a devil and an angel. And on Halloween night no less, how cliché. What could fate have in store for us?”

“You sound rather incredulous. Do you not believe in fate, Ishtar?”

The other man just rolled his eyes. “You sound just like my sister. She’s always going on and on about fate and destiny. She’s real high up in her company, but she actually has people make appointments for her to read their stars or whatever. Can you believe that?”

Ryou chuckled into his glass. “I suppose everyone needs something to believe in.” He set the drink down and then put his chin in his hand as he turned his attention solely on the man next to him. “So, you have a sister. Any other siblings?”

Bakhura leaned back on the couch. He couldn’t take his eyes off Ryou’s mouth and the way it puckered when appreciating his drink. As though he could read Bakhura’s mind, Ryou licked an invisible dribble of wine from the corner of his curled lip. Bakhura looked down to the glass in his hand and stuttered, “Y-yeah. There’s my older sister and brother, and a younger sibling.” He paused, as though weighing what he would say next. “But my older brother and I are adopted.”

“Oh?” The question was open-ended, allowing the other to elaborate or move on as he pleased.

Unsure of why he even brought it up—maybe it was Ryou’s wide, inquisitive eyes on him that spurred his mouth to babble—Bakhura settled on the short version of how his family came to be. “Yeah, we were friends in Egypt and when some refugee program sponsored them to come here, Isis lied and said we were family.” He shrugged but when speaking about his adoptive sister's exploits, his tone was almost reverent.

“How kind of her. And smart thinking on her part.”

“She is wicked smart. Just don’t tell her I said that.” Bakhura laughed before finishing off his drink. As soon as the glass touched the table, Mai opened up the curtain, switched it for a full one, and then was gone again. He jerked a finger toward the fluttering curtain. “I hope you pay her well. Best service I’ve ever had, and she makes the drinks damn strong.”

“Don’t worry. If I didn’t make it worth her time, Mai wouldn’t be here.” Ryou swirled his glass distractedly, watching the wine slosh around the sides. “She’s actually like a sister to me as well. I don’t have much of a blood family to speak of, so we look after each other. That’s why I opened this place, actually. Everyone who works here is an outcast in some way and we want to help others like us.”

After a few silent moments, Ryou glanced up at Bakhura. The violet gaze he was met with was soft.

“Is there something on my face?” The angel covered the lower half of his face, but the devil could still see his blush.

Bakhura shook his head with a low laugh. “I’m just surprised someone as young as you is not only so selfless, they’d open a business just to help others, but you actually had the money to do it on your own. You got any stock market tips for me?”

Ryou’s smile made his eyes crinkle again. “I can’t say it was my own money as my dad has left me with quite a bit. But,” and his tone changed to one that Bakhura could only describe as sultry and it sent an exciting shiver down his back, “how old do you think I am?”

He tapped his glass nervously and took a sip of his drink. Ryou was looking up at him from heavy eyelids, bright eyes peeking through fanning white eyelashes. Their shoulders touched. When had he moved so close?

“No older than twenty, surely,” Bakhura rasped.

“I’ll take that as a compliment, but I’m actually twenty six.” He sat back and smirked at the look of surprise on the other’s face.

“Really, you look a lot younger. I’m twenty eight.”

“Oh? I always have liked older men.”

Bakhura thought he would die right then and there if Ryou hadn’t been around to slap him on the back and dislodge the whiskey burning its way down his trachea. He used the resulting cough as an excuse to hide his face in the crook of his arm.

“You’re almost as red as your jacket,” Ryou told him cheerfully and apparently not fooled by the other’s attempted deception. Hearing that laugh made almost dying worth it, Bakhura decided.

“I just wasn’t expecting you to say that,” he grumbled, maybe a little too harshly. Bakhura sat up just in time to catch the look of confusion and then regret that flashed over the angel’s face.

“Oh, my apologies, I think I might have misunderstood… If you’re not into men…” And Ryou started to pull away.

“No!” He reached out and grabbed the hand that had just been on his shoulder. If he were being honest with himself, this encounter was definitely strange. The few times Bakhura had ever bothered being intimate with someone, he always did the pursuing and the flirting, even if it was just a passing fancy. Getting flustered by the other person was not his thing. He had never been as awestruck as he was that night and from what? Just listening to someone talk about their hodgepodge family or watching the way their eyes lit up when they smiled? Every pickup line he’d memorized as a teen had flittered out of his head the moment he saw an angel standing above the crowd, the moment _Ryou_ had made eye contact with _him_. Holding that cool hand in his clammy grip didn’t give him back his usual god-amongst-humans confidence, but it made him want to be honest.

“Being flirted with like that is a first for me,” he admitted. He kept his eyes on their clasped hands between them on the couch. He was sure the light was bright enough in this enclosed space to show the red of his cheeks. “But I’m… I’m into all kinds of people, so…”

He felt another cool touch on his chin, and he was forced to look up and back into those eyes as bright and clear as the sky on a cloudless summer day. Ryou was grinning and Bakhura couldn’t help but smile back.

“I could flirt with you like this all night, if you wouldn’t mind it.”

“I don't mind at all.”

They leaned in, eyes on each other's lips. Metal screeched against metal as the curtain was ripped back. “Boss. We got a problem.”

Bakhura could feel the other’s cool breath ghosting over his lips in a sigh. Ryou’s face was placid and eyes dull as he turned to Mai, but her own face showed no traces of guilt at the interruption. Her purple eyes were wide with urgency.

“Fine,” Ryou muttered with another sigh. He downed the rest of his wine and slid off of the couch. He gave Bakhura a regretful smile. “I’ll be right back and hopefully we can pick up where we left off.”

“See ya soon, angel.” Ah, where had that witticism been moments before?

With the curtain closed again and with nothing but his own company, Bakhura slapped his hands to his face, intensifying the mottled pink of his cheeks. “Holy shit.” Heart beating too fast in his ears to hear his own joke, he ran his fingers through silver hair and replayed the last few minutes in his mind.

The first time someone else had bought him a drink, Malik notwithstanding? Check.

First time someone else had invited him to their table and he actually took them up on it? Check.

First time someone had made him blush? Check. Held on to his chin like that in order to kiss him? Check!

Bakhura turned the empty drinking glass in his hand, running his thumb over the words MILLENNIUM emblazoned on the side. Even in the dim light, the glass seemed to wink at him invitingly. Recognizing that glint, he took a deep breath and started counting.

Though Bakhura was never the first to try anything new unless coerced, he could admit what had happened with Ryou was actually pleasant. Nowadays, he only ever went out to bars so that Malik had someone nearby; before, he had only been attempting to live up to the societal expectations of what it meant to be a man. He had wanted to recreate the normal family his parents had lost. Eventually, feeling lost in a sea of insecurity regarding his own sexuality, Bakhura had given up on his love life entirely to focus on other things, though how well that was working out was up to interpretation. He couldn’t say he wasn’t lonely. Hell, he couldn’t even particularly say he was happy. But he had been making strides, at least, that’s what his therapist had told him.

He only counted to twenty when someone giggled behind the curtain and it was ripped open. Two entwined bodies tumbled onto the couch. One of them buried their face in the other’s neck while the object of their affections threw their head back in a laugh and made eye contact with Bakhura.

“Bakhura!” Malik jerked underneath their date, pushing them both upright. They looked at Bakhura with wide eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing. You know this is the VIP section?”

“Yeah, and the only place with decent seating,” Malik’s friend muttered. “And privacy, or so I thought.”

Malik nudged the other with their shoulder. “This is my brother, Bakhura, the one I was telling you I came with. Bakhura, this is Amari Namu.”

Brother and date simply stared at each other, both refusing to offer their hand. The other’s eyes were small and slitted. His dirty blonde hair was pulled back in a low ponytail on its last leg. He had a scowl on his face that distinctly reminded Bakhura of a wolf and he decided then and there that he did not like this guy.

“This what you call fashion sense? I thought this was a costume party,” Bakhura replied coolly in reference to Namu’s outfit. He was wearing a green top and camo pants.

“Yeah, I’m G.I. Joe, action hero.”

Bakhura simply snorted and moved to take a drink but remembered that his cup was empty. He reached across the table and grabbed the wine bottle. Something tugged on the other end.

“You don’t wanna drink that,” Namu advised. The bottle slipped from Bakhura’s grip and Namu put it back in the bucket.

“The hell is that supposed to mean? You’re not even supposed to be here!”

“Speaking of which, what are _you_ doing here, Bakhura?” Malik leaned over the table to break eye contact of the glares the two men were sending each other. The whiskers on Malik’s cheeks were distant memories and Bakhura noticed their headband was askew. He reached out and fixed it with a scowl.

“I was invited here, Nosy.” Malik stared at him dubiously. “By the owner,” he added in a hurried breath.

“That little guy with the halo?” Malik grabbed Bakhura’s arm and shook him excitedly. They were grinning widely. “Maybe not all hope is lost for you yet. What on earth could you possibly have said to get him to invite you here?”

Bakhura shrugged them off. “Way to make me sound like a bad catch.”

Malik simply laughed and poked Bakhura as they begged for him to give all the details. Over their shoulder, Namu was obviously perturbed, placing an arm around Malik’s waist to try and pull them back off of the couch and somewhere else so they could continue what they were doing before.

“Forget about it, I’ll tell you later. Are we leaving together or what?”

“No,” Namu answered immediately.

Already over the glaring contest, Bakhura simply looked at his sibling. They gave him a lopsided grin and shrugged.

“Then give me your keys.”

That wiped the grin right off their mouth. Malik looked at Bakhura’s empty glass and then studied his face. Reluctantly, they pulled their car keys from the bag at their hip and set them in Bakhura’s open hand.

“Go the speed limit, in fact, go five under. If anything happens to my car, I will bring Ra’s wrath upon you, Bakhura. And leave my lighter in the car!”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s already in the middle console, you cry baby!” Bakhura pocketed the keys and grabbed his empty glass. Before closing the curtain behind him, he made eye contact with Namu again. “You had better watch yourself.”

Malik clucked their tongue while Namu rolled his eyes. As soon as the curtain drifted shut behind him, Bakhura could hear Malik giggling again.

Walking up to the bar, he was surprised to see Mai behind the counter. He looked back over his shoulder, worried that Ryou had finished whatever it was that he had needed to do and was heading back to the VIP section.

“He’s still busy, sug.”

“Oh.” He pressed his empty palms against the counter and tried not to look too disappointed. She simply smiled at him. “Could you tell him I had to go? And…thanks for having a drink with me.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him as though to say, “That’s it?” Instead, she nodded and said, “I’ll let him know.” Her gaze drifted down to his jacket and then back to his face.

“Thanks,” he replied and quickly left.

The air outside was warm and reminded Bakhura of long nights spent on the street in Egypt. He couldn’t see the stars out here. The parking lot was full, and people were still streaming in and out of the nightclub. He walked up to the car and fished around in his pockets for the keys, but his fingers brushed against something cool and hard instead. Leaning against the wall, he turned the empty drinking glass around in his hands again and touched the rough etching of words.

“Shit,” he huffed. His therapist would not be happy to hear about this.

But maybe, he reasoned, if he returned it rather than driving off, that would be a step in the right direction. Owning up to Mai or Ryou would be the best course of action, he was sure his therapist would insist, but he could just leave the glass on a table to be cleaned up by the barback later and they’d be none the wiser. And though it sounded like a reasonable plan, Bakhura found he couldn’t will his legs to take him back to return the pilfered item. While all the other stolen goods he possessed symbolized the thrill of a well-performed heist or the crazy means he had to resort to in order to secure the item, this glass, heavy in his hand, felt different, as though it cost more than the gold or jewels stuffed under his bed.

He jumped at the crashing sounds of glass shattering on concrete.

Bakhura blinked at the cup still in his hand, fully expecting to see it in shards on the ground, and then looked around. Tucked in the corner between the building, the car, and a fence, there were no other people that he could see nearby. Yet an undulating shadow in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He walked toward the opening in the fence and stopped when the shadow appeared again.

Except it wasn’t a shadow, he realized, but the body of a panther crouching down to the ground. Bakhura paused when its mouth opened in a guttural hiss, white teeth stark against the black of its body. He took a step back, ready to throw the glass in his hand as a distraction and just run, when he noticed the feline wasn’t looking at him. Its eyes were focused on something around the corner, something that spoke in a familiar voice.

“What are you doing here, Valon?” a male voice asked.

The panther hissed again, and its tail whipped around its body threateningly. A purple high-heeled boot came down on the animal’s neck as someone stepped forward.

“Why don’t you make yourself more presentable?” the voice continued.

When nothing happened, Mai increased the pressure on the panther’s neck until it choked out, “All right!”

Bakhura shook his head. No, that couldn’t be right.

The panther didn’t speak again and Bakhura decided he probably shouldn’t be driving home if he was hearing animals speak. He would just have to return Malik's keys—and the drinking glass! a small voice reminded him in the back of his mind—and call a cab. But then Mai removed her boot from the creature’s throat, and it muttered a gruff thanks.

There was a solid moment in which nothing happened and Bakhura was convinced that he was crazy. Then the panther started to move—underneath the skin. A weight settled in the air, pressing at Bakhura from all sides. The feline's body undulated like the surface of boiling water and the hind legs and spine straightened out. The tail disappeared behind the widening hips and the black fur melted away into pale skin. Though Bakhura had watched the whole transformation—how could he look away from the grotesqueness of it?—he still did not believe his eyes when the panther disappeared and left a naked man behind.

“Now, answer my question.”

“I can’t get any more presentable than this seeing as I don’t have any clothes.”

Valon jumped when Mai kicked the fence behind him.

“You know what he means, panther-boy. Why are you sneaking around?”

He looked up at Mai with a smirk before shrugging. “I just heard a Supe-friendly night club had opened, so why wouldn’t I check it out? But I’m surprised, you never struck me as the partying type, oh great Dracul.”

“Cut the crap—”

“Mai.”

Ryou’s back and bobbing halo came into view as he stepped toward the man on the ground. Valon was sitting up right, still sporting a playful smirk and defiant glare, and then he was hunched over, gasping for air. Bakhura hadn’t seen anything happen but noticed something crawling along Ryou’s gloved hand. Blood dripped down his fingers.

He waited for the other man to catch his breath. “I won’t ask again, Valon.”

Still wheezing, the shape shifter glared up at the man. “Come now, Dracul. You saying I wasn’t invited to your party?”

Bakhura heard bones cracking and more blood appeared on Ryou's hand.

“Take him to the storage room.”

With seemingly no effort, Mai threw Valon over her shoulder and disappeared behind the building. “By the way, Ryou, your little friend had to leave. He said thanks.”

“Did he—”

“Nah.” A pause. “He stole a lowball though. Maybe you can use that as an excuse to track him down.”

“Thank you, Mai.” A door shuffled closed.

Blood trickled slowly off the tips of Ryou’s fingers. As though just noticing it, he brought his hand up to his face to watch a rivulet curl around his thumb. His tongue darted out and stained his pale lips cherry red. He spat on the ground.

“Disgusting.”

Something scuffled behind him and Ryou whipped around. Walking to the path that led back to the parking lot, all he saw was an empty drinking glass on the ground.

* * *

Malik bit their lip to stifle a low moan. Namu had pulled the top part of their suit down around the shoulders for better access. His lips trailed along the space between muscle and collarbone to elicit another muffled sigh and Malik idly wondered what else that long tongue had in store for them. His hands were working the zipper lower, over Malik’s chest and then their belly button and down towards—

“Amari, w-wait…”

His hands paused and he pulled his face away to give Malik a stare, pupils blown wide in his ultraviolet eyes. Both of their chests heaved up and down and Malik’s headband was crooked again. Their leg fell away from Namu’s hip as they pushed themself upright. They leaned in to Namu again and pressed their lips to his ear, nibbling the lobe softly, breath hot against his skin.

“Why don’t we enjoy the VIP experience while we’re here?” Malik moved to grab the wine bottle but Namu pushed it away.

“You really don’t want to drink that.”

They crossed their arms over their chest and started at him with a furrowed brow. “And why is that?”

Namu was silent for a moment. “It’s a bad year,” he said simply. “Besides if you wanna have some fun, I got something else for ya.” He searched through several pockets before finding the correct one and threw something onto the table. Malik started to disentangle themself from the other’s arm across their shoulders.

“What the hell?” They couldn’t control how their voice kicked up an octave or the shiver that ran through their body. “I don’t fuck with that, I don’t even wanna be around it, so I’m just—”

“Hey.” Namu reached out and ran a callused thumb over Malik’s trembling lip. When they didn’t look at him, eyes stilled glued to the offensive item on the table, he pulled their chin closer to his face, blocking their line of sight and forcing them to look at him. Finally, Malik met Namu’s gaze; their pupils were wide. “Calm down and just breathe.” They inhaled audibly.

The two of them sat in silence. Malik’s breathing steadied as they held eye contact with Namu. After several long minutes, they nodded slowly, and their gaze drifted to Namu’s shoulder. Their face crumpled.

“Sorry,” they mumbled.

“What are you apologizing for?” Namu turned back to the table and grabbed the baggie. Malik tensed beside him. He dumped the contents into the slush in the wine bucket. “It wasn’t mine anyway.”

They made a noise in the back of their throat that said they didn’t believe him.

“Really, I nicked it from some guy in the bathroom ‘cause I didn’t know what you were in to.” Namu shrugged as Malik continued to look at him warily.

There were a lot of questions they wanted to ask, but they settled on, “Have you done it before?”

He shrugged again. “Yeah, a long time ago when a friend offered, but I don’t go looking for it. Not like I got a guy or anything.”

“Like I said, I don’t fuck with that shit,” they repeated but the fear that had tinged their voice before was now gone.

“Then neither do I.” He pressed his lips to the side of Malik’s neck. A hand traveled up their thigh.

When Malik was able to catch their breath between heavy kisses, they gasped out, “Let’s get out of here.”

Namu zipped up the other’s catsuit and the two of them slid off the couch and back into the crowd. Malik looked down at their slender hand engulfed in Namu’s grip and something warm flared in that space where their skin touched. It spread through Malik’s body all the way to their toes until they felt like they were walking on a cloud, bathed in the rays of the sun. Wondering if he could feel it too, Malik tightened their hold on his hand. They ran straight into Namu’s back when he stopped in the middle of the crowd.

“Wait here.” He muttered absently, “Bathroom,” and then disappeared.

They waited a full minute, as long as their patience would allow. A cold realization washed over them.

“What the hell,” Malik grumbled to themself before stalking off in the same direction. They couldn’t find Namu in the line to the bathroom and no one had seen him go in. Huffing, Malik crossed their arms over their chest, visibly bristling. If Namu was trying to blow them off, it was the most blatant and rude way to go about it. He had been all over Malik just a second ago. Had their little episode thrown him off so much that he would rather just drop them without a simple goodbye?

There was only one way to find out, though Malik hated that they had to do it and was already dreading the inevitable headache. But they loathed being dropped like last year’s jeans even more than they hated the consequences of using their power, so they’d suck it up if it meant they could give Namu a piece of their mind before going home. Closing their eyes, Malik put a hand to one of the tender, purple marks on their neck and pictured the lips that had been there just moments before. They felt the other’s hot breath tickling their ear and fingers tracing down their sides. They imagined the weight of Namu over them, felt the energy that came off of him in waves and searched for it.

Malik’s eyes flew open, head throbbing in tandem, and they knew Namu was still there, just on the other side of the dance floor. They couldn’t see him from this far away, but they felt his presence like a lifeline and followed it across the club until they almost stumbled over him. He was alone, crouched down and peering around a corner. Their angry protests died in their throat when a strong grip pulled them down and they tumbled onto the man below them. Namu, still holding their wrist, put a finger to his lips. _Quiet_.

Malik waited. And waited. But their patience had run thin earlier and the headache was now an incessant buzzing in their ears. They opened their mouth again to complain when Namu stood, pulling Malik with him and pressed in close. He kissed them with eyes open, gaze following a blonde woman that had come from around the corner Namu had been watching. When she passed, he pulled away from Malik, eyes never leaving her retreating form.

Malik beat a fist against Namu’s chest, which he ignored. “What the hell are you doing?” they hissed.

“I told you to wait.” They continued to glare at him until he sighed. “Look, my friend is in trouble… Probably got in a fight with the bouncer and I’m trying to get him home.”

“Oh.” Malik’s indignation melted away. “Then let’s go help him. Where’s he at?”

Namu tilted his head, forehead puckering as he stared at them. Malik met his gaze, the previous anger in their eyes replaced with excited anticipation at the prospect of being able to help. After another moment of contemplation, he nodded and gave the immediate area a furtive glance and then moved down the corridor they had been staking out. Malik followed Namu to the last door on the left to find it was locked.

“Dammit.” Namu jiggled the handle in vain.

“I got it,” Malik chimed in. They pulled a hairpin from behind their ear and within seconds the door popped open. “Don’t ask,” they replied to the questioning glance Namu sent them.

He stepped into the dark room first. “Valon! Was that you the blonde dragged in here?”

Someone laughed near the back. “Namu! They got me good rummaging around near the back gate. Dracul did a right number on my rib.”

Malik fished their cell phone out of their bag and turned on the flashlight. They nearly dropped it when the light swept over a naked brunette sitting in the corner.

“Didn’t tell me you had company! Sorry, I’m not fit to greet guests at the moment.”

“You idiot.” Namu slapped Valon on the back of the head. “Now I have to carry your naked ass out of here? Where the hell are your clothes?”

Valon gave a one shouldered shrug. “Well, you know…” He looked up at his friend and then glanced at Malik.

“Yeah, whatever,” Namu mumbled but the heat in his voice was gone. “Can you stand?”

Wheezing, Valon scrambled off of the floor. “Yeah, not a problem! Probably shouldn’t run a marathon any time soon though.”

Namu nodded. “Malik, stand in the hallway, we’ll come out behind you and take the emergency exit. Don’t want to subject everyone to this pasty ass.”

Valon gave a derisive laugh. Seemingly eager to please, Malik blocked the sight of the two men as they slipped out the back door and then followed behind them. The group emerged by the dumpster and the left side of the building. Malik’s car, which had been parked there moments before, was gone, so they weaved between vehicles in the parking lot to hide Valon until they got to Namu’s Challenger. Malik slipped into the back, thinking the car looked familiar before the headache demanded their full attention and they cradled their head in their hands; the pain was increasing, possibly from the stress of finding a naked man in the back room of a nightclub. They regretted letting their pride get in the way and not just going home when they thought Namu had dumped them.

“That’s a good friend you got there, Namu, if they’re willing to break out a naked guy with you on the first date,” Valon chortled. He gasped, laugh cut short by the pain in his side.

“I’m dropping you off at Rafael’s to get stitched up.”

“You sure you wanna take me there?” From the corner of their eye, Malik could see Valon gesturing to them in the back seat. His mouth was moving but no sound was coming out.

“I thought they were meeting at Amelda’s,” Namu snarled.

“Change of plans, and plans will probably have to change again after my failure tonight.”

“Shit. Malik, where do you live? Malik?”

They could feel Valon’s and Namu’s questioning eyes on them. They could see their mouths moving. But they couldn’t hear anything other than the pounding pressure of their head and the high pitched squeal growing louder in their ear like a train barrelling straight towards them. And behind the squeal was something, tittering, whispering voices that called out their name and spoke in a language they couldn’t understand.

“Ah!” they yelled out.

The entertainment system clicked on, volume on full blast as the radio ran through all the channels and back again. The windows shuddered in their frames and the instrument display flashed. Namu slammed on the brakes and jerked the wheel as the screeching sound reverberated from Malik’s head into his own. The car spun a half circle on the road before coming to a complete stop with its headlights flickering on and off. Valon grabbed his own head and covered his ears in vain against the noise that pierced through his skull.

Just as immediately as the sound had started, it cut off. Malik’s body lay slumped against the back seat, eyes rolled into the back of their head to show the whites of their eyes.

“Shit,” Namu repeated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to mouthful-of-bees on tumblr for being my beta for this chapter! I really appreciate your insight.
> 
> Planning on updating (at least) monthly. This work is the product of (1) imagining Ryou in a suit and (2) reading all the gem/tendershipping fics that AO3 and FF have to offer and just needing MORE. Hope this helps others scratch that itch too.


	2. A New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A search party is sent out. It's time that someone learns the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy to present the next chapter in BWBW, just two days shy of a month later. I did some editing to The Wizard that added a little over 700 words to the original word count (because I don't know what it means to let sleeping dogs lie). Mostly added some more pining for Ryou on Bakhura's part, a bit more scene building, and edited the dialogue to be more in character for each person.
> 
> Also, I changed Namu's last name to Amari. I've never particularly liked 'Kek' and mouthful-of-bees (who was my beta again! thank you so much!!) suggested this beautiful name instead.

Blazing red eyes glimmered against fur dark as night. Fangs stark white shone out from a bloodied maw and lolling tongue. Claws extended and raised, ready to rip into the flesh of its prey. Unblinking, Bakhura stared down at the wolf that glared back at him.

“You just gonna stand there all day?”

His vision shifted. An illustration of a wolf printed on the can of an energy drink. Rows and rows of cans and bottles behind glass doors. A flickering fluorescent light overhead. A bell chimed; someone stepped through the doors of the convenience store. He turned to the unfamiliar voice and took a step back.

“Sorry, go ahead.”

The other man raised an eyebrow but didn’t give any retort. He pulled open the door, grabbed three of the _Plague Wolf_ energy drinks and headed to the checkout counter. Bakhura followed behind him with two cans of his own and a pastry that claimed to be a creampuff but lacked the definitive puffiness. Someone’s cellphone rang and the blonde in front of him shoved his hands into several pockets before pulling out a silver device and pressing it to his face with a snarl after a glance at the caller ID.

“What do you want?”

Silence as the other voice answered. Bakhura pressed one of the chilled cans to his temple and tried to temper the images that flashed in his mind, images of a panther morphing into a man, of blood dripping down the hands of another that fractured the innocent visage of his halo. The slideshow of images, the pressure behind his ears from the headband he had forgotten to remove, and his alcoholic dehydration were coalescing into the perfect headache. Eavesdropping was not Bakhura’s intention but focusing on someone else’s problems was far easier than trying to distract himself from the inevitable suffering.

“You wanna bring a _what_ to my house? When _he_ might show up?”

The man’s voice was emphatic and the few people in the store shot furtive glares at him from the corner of their eyes or to the unperturbed woman at the counter. Whether he noticed their unease or simply did not care, he continued on.

“I don’t care if it died in my damn kitchen, I don’t want it there! We’ve got a meeting tonight and this convenient little damsel in distress is probably just their way of sending over some spy to figure out what we’re planning.” The blonde paused in his tirade and a voice garbled on the other line. “I don’t give two FUCKS if Namu brought it in himself, you know he only thinks with the head between his legs and not the one on his shoulders, so if he wants to bring _one of those_ in then they can both fucking kick rocks!”

That name sparked a memory that wasn’t a fantastical creature in Bakhura’s scrambled brain. His violet eyes snapped up to the man in front of him at the same moment he turned around to level a glare.

“Are you gonna answer that or we all gotta listen to your shit taste in music?”

_Blinded like new… _Bakhura realized then that his own phone was ringing. He fished it out of his back pocket and answered without checking who it was.

“Bakhura, where is Malik?”

He winced as Isis’ authoritative voice cut through the fog in his brain sharper than the energy drink in his hands ever could. “I don’t know,” he answered, hoping his voice didn’t betray his anxiety.

There was a moment’s pause and then Isis replied, voice rough as though she had been crying only moments before and the tears threatened to return, “Neither do I.”

In all his years, Bakhura had never seen his elder sister exude any energy that couldn’t be described as calm and calculated. Her gaze was always unwavering and her shoulders stiff in even the most trying of times. She spoke with the confidence of someone well beyond her years and offered sage-like advice to her clients and siblings, the latter of whom rarely requested it but always appreciated it when they decided to heed her warnings. The fear that shook her voice now sent a chill down Bakhura’s spine and all previous preternatural ponderings were promptly forgotten. He tensed as though the floor had dropped out beneath him and his body was waiting for the inevitable free fall.

“Did you try to, y’know…” Bakhura’s eyes darted around the convenience store. Other than the man in front of him, who was still on the phone and now ordering something from behind the counter, and the salesperson, no one else was near him. “…_look _for them?” he finished in a whisper.

It was a totally innocuous question in and of itself that did not deserve the weight with which he asked it. His stress on the word ‘look’ should have been enough to raise the eyebrows of anyone who happened to be snooping on the conversation. The way Bakhura shuffled his weight from one foot to the other and the fervent tone of his hushed voice gave away the importance of his inquiry. He spoke it like a secret that was not his to tell.

Bakhura was quick to admit that he did not understand his older sister’s ability, nor did he want to, because in all honesty, it had always creeped him out. Isis knew things that she had no earthly right to know. She knew more than just the exact words to say to a refugee program that would convince them to take on two extra children with no birth certificates or other documentation, or how to negotiate a business deal with the most notorious of men. She knew where the neighbor’s missing cat was (taken in by the woman two streets over who had a secret hoarding problem); she knew when Bakhura was going to be suspended for getting into a fight with the new transfer student (she had warned him that morning over breakfast to choose his battles wisely and he chose that day not to be mindful of her advice). She had attempted to explain to him once that the cards and crystal ball were just for show as her clients needed something tangible that held power and that they could marvel at. Her real visions appeared in her mind’s eye, she said, and then Bakhura changed the subject because it was just too much to think about. She had simply nodded as though she had expected that exact reaction.

But even if Bakhura didn’t understand, he knew that what Isis could do was real and if there were any time he wanted to hear about it, that time was now.

“Yes, and I cannot _see _them,” she replied with the same sense of dread that crawled along Bakhura’s skin. That was another seemingly innocuous statement with more meaning behind it than it would usually suggest. “Please, Bakhura, you must search for them at Millennium for me. I cannot go there.”

He opened his mouth to ask what she meant when the salesperson called out, “Next in line.”

“Look for them there, and call me back if you find them, please, brother.”

_If_ he found them? Bakhura’s trepidation increased. “Ok, I will. Bye, Isis.”

Bakhura dumped his drinks and snack on the counter. He began searching through his contacts as the salesperson rang up his items and clicked on the phone icon next to Malik’s name. He held the phone between shoulder and ear as he paid for his wares, but he needn’t have bothered; the call went straight to voicemail. Though his expectations that Malik would actually answer were low, the fact that their phone was presumably dead did nothing to slow his speeding heart. Malik was always careful to have their phone charged and carried around at least one extra battery pack and charging cord. Bakhura found their vigilance odd, especially since they barely ever answered calls and only texted, but when he had asked about it, their eyebrows had furrowed, and their eyes had glazed over, as though looking to some other place or time and not the brother that stood in front of them.

“I won’t ever be without a way to call for help again,” was all they had said.

Bakhura dialed their number a second time with the same result. His hands cried out in protest and he realized he was back in the car, grasping at the steering wheel with one hand and his phone with the other, screen pressed against his face as Malik’s voicemail played. Prying his fingers away from both, Bakhura dropped his phone in his lap and popped open one of the cans he had bought, chugging it between mouthfuls of pastry. His stomach churned as the layer of cream settled on the alcohol and energy drink. Even with his eyes closed, it felt as though the world were spinning, and while sitting in the parking lot of the convenience store, trying to get his wits about him, he wasn’t sure what to blame the vertigo on.

As he drove back to Millennium, he listed the possible causes for the ever-growing panic in the pit of his stomach. First and foremost, Malik was missing and Bakhura worried that if all-seeing Isis didn’t know where they were, then it would be a cold day in hell if he was to find them on his own. Second, he had seen a panther turn into a man with his own two eyes, in _real_ life, not on some movie screen or in one of those anime that he and Malik watched together.

Usually, laying out all his problems in an orderly list, or simply counting in either direction, helped to relieve Bakhura’s anxiety or dulled the impulse to slip things that didn’t belong to him into his pockets. But now, as he thought about the third thing that had set him on edge that night, his stomach started doing backflips and his heart thumped. He couldn’t hear anything over the incessant pounding of his own blood in his ears and, again, he found himself somewhere he couldn’t remember going, standing in line to get back into the nightclub. His hand shook when he showed the bouncer the stamp on its back. Stepping inside Millennium again, a blast of cool air from overhead helped to whip away some of the sweat that had formed on his lined forehead.

_Just in and out to find Malik_, he thought to himself. _Just find Malik and go._

From the railing, he couldn’t see anyone that looked like his sibling, no blonde hair bopping along to the beat of the music. He glanced down at his wrist—the shaking had subsided, he noticed, as he inhaled deeply—to look at the time. Midnight exactly. He hadn’t checked the time when he had left Malik and their date, but it couldn’t have been more than thirty or forty minutes ago. It was possible they were still in the VIP section.

_Or they’re long gone,_ he thought derisively.

Throwing another quick glance into the crowd—no one with white hair out there either—Bakhura started down the stairs but stopped when he saw blonde hair at the bar against the furthest wall underneath the DJ booth. Walking back up a step or two, he squinted over the sea of bodies only to realize the blonde was the bartender, Mai, flitting around both ends of the bar as she doled out drinks. Bakhura glanced over to the closest bar, looked away, and back quickly. There was another Mai, doing pretty much the same thing as the first.

_Twins?_

His gaze wandered to a third bartender at the third bar.

_Triplets?_

Shaking his head, Bakhura finished descending the steps and went to the second Mai at the second bar, the one closest to the stairs.

“Welcome back,” she greeted him with a friendly smile.

“Um, yeah, thanks,” he muttered, eyes roaming her face, looking for any differences between her and the other woman he had met. “Hey, have you seen my sibling? Blonde, cat suit.”

“Not since they ordered their second long island and then snuck into the VIP with some other blonde,” she replied while shaking her head.

Bakhura frowned and turned to look at the VIP section on the opposite wall. It was difficult to see the gold curtain hidden in the corner past all the bodies and support columns in the way.

“You can check if you want. If they’re not there, ask the barback, he’s out there somewhere cleaning up. Tall, blonde kid with a sword on his hip.”

He nodded, thanked her, and then worked his way through the crowd. He paused at the curtain; it was silent on the other side. At first gently moving the fabric away to peek through the gap, Bakhura then ripped it open when he realized there was no one there, hoping for the second time that night that his eyes were deceiving him. He would have rather walked in on Malik and that guy he didn’t like doing just about anything—anything except _that_—instead of finding an empty booth as he did now. Cursing under his breath, he turned back around into the crowd, head swiveling in its search for the barback with a sword. Bakhura found him stacking cups at a standing table, his own head bobbing up and down to the music playing from the headphones covering his ears.

Bakhura tapped him on the shoulder. “Sorry, but Mai told me you might have seen my sibling around here.” He fished his phone out of his pocket and pulled up a photo of his whole family, zooming in on Malik. “They were wearing a black cat suit, y’know, for Halloween.”

The other man squinted, brown eyes crossing as he leaned into the luminescent screen. “Nah, man, I don’t remember seein' ‘em, but I just clocked in ‘bout an hour ago. You sure they ain’t leave before then?”

“Pretty sure,” Bakhura said with a sigh. “Thanks anyway, um…?”

“Jonouchi Katsuya. Good luck, man. If I see ‘em, I’ll let ‘em know you’re lookin’ for ‘em.”

“Thanks, Jonouchi. Just tell them to call their brother.”

Giving him a thumbs up, Katsuya slipped his headphones back on and Bakhura headed for the exit. He stopped at the same bar top, waiting for Mai to notice him.

“Wasn’t in the VIP and Jonouchi hadn’t seen them,” he relayed, trying not to sound as disappointed or panic-stricken as he actually was. “If you see them, could you please tell them to call me?”

Mai nodded and leaned on the bar, chin in her hand. “I’ll be sure to let them know, sweetheart. I’m sure they’re fine wherever they’re at. But you know what,” she said with a tilted smile and a lilting voice, “I know someone who’s got a real knack for finding things other people can’t.”

Bakhura raised a thin eyebrow, wary of the answer to his next question. “And who would that be?”

“Ryou. I’m sure he’d help you out if you asked nicely.”

“Who am I helping out?”

The third thing that had set Ishtar Bakhura on edge that night, Bakura Ryou appeared as suddenly as if he had ghosted into the room from on high. His voice raised the hairs all over Bakhura’s body into gooseflesh and dropped his stomach to his knees. The headache that had been dulled by the air conditioning thumped loudly again, pressing thick against his temples. The blood coursing through his veins threatened to break through his flesh. A bead of sweat glided down the side of his face. 

Yet when he turned to look at Ryou behind him, two-toned eyes glimmering with curiosity as they flickered from Mai’s face to Bakhura’s, the echoes of the angel’s voice stoked the embers of something else in the pit of Bakhura’s stomach. He wanted to take the other’s face in his hands, cross the infinitely small distance they had failed to traverse before and discover what the wine clinging to his lips tasted like. Combined with the fear warning him to turn tail and run, Bakhura’s body was in turmoil, heart fluttering, stomach in knots. For the second time that night, he felt as though he were suspended in space as the floor was pulled out from underneath his feet, ready at any moment to fall into an abyss of the unknown.

“Lover-boy here is looking for their sibling, the one that crashed into the VIP area earlier. Figured you could lend him a hand.” Mai winked at them both, flashed a devious smile, and then turned back to the patrons that lined the bar.

Ryou looked up at Bakhura and reached out a slight, now ungloved hand to rest on the other’s elbow. His head tilted to the side and the corners of his eyes wrinkled in a welcome-back smile, and gods, Bakhura couldn’t pull away no matter how loud the flight instinct in his body blared. “I could definitely help you find them. We can check the cameras first and go from there.”

Bakhura nodded and let the other man lead him toward the VIP section for the second time that night. While the curtained area was set into the right corner beneath the stairs, a small office was nestled into the opposite side. It was almost invisible from outside of the room. The door to the office and the one-way mirror beside it were flush with the wall of the dance floor, effectively hiding it from the passing or inebriated glances of most party goers. Ryou unlocked the matte black door with a key from his pocket and stepped aside for Bakhura, letting the door close. It locked automatically behind them. The club owner heaved a heavy sigh, eyelids falling shut as he slumped into the rolling chair in front of several monitors and dials similar to a switch board.

“Finally, I can take this accursed headband off, my head is killing me.” Ryou set the halo on the small space available on the table and rubbed at his skull behind his ears. Bakhura stood awkwardly, unsure of what to do with himself, until Ryou finally opened his eyes and blinked up at the other in surprise. “Please, sit,” he offered and pulled over another chair. Bakhura accepted the invitation silently. Mimicking Ryou, he took his headband off and set it aside, head immediately thanking him for relieving some of its pressure.

Ryou turned his attention to the monitors and grabbed the mouse sitting in a corner. He gestured to the switchboard with his free hand. “All these dials are for the lights or whatever, I don’t know, Mai set all that up. But the security footage is all backed up on the computer, and I know how that works at least, so we should be able to find them. Who am I looking for?” He looked eagerly over to Bakhura who fumbled to retrieve his phone.

“Um, here, this picture, the blonde in front.” He showed Ryou the same picture he had shown Katsuya.

Ryou took the phone from Bakhura’s hand, eyes glancing over the others in the picture—Isis, Rishid, Bakhura, and then Malik on vacation in Jeju—before he zoomed into the correct face. He clucked his tongue and nodded. “Yeah, I saw them a few times earlier and then over in the VIP area with someone else, a little after you left, I think.” He returned the phone and turned back to the computer, pulling up the video files. Bakhura watched him click through each one, stealing glances at the pale face illuminated by the screen’s blue light. Ryou puffed out his cheeks as he worked, eyes darting around the monitor as he clicked through the footage. The only sound in the tiny room was his foot tapping against the ground and the click of the mouse.

“Here they are.” Ryou pointed to Malik stumbling out of the VIP section with Namu. They disappeared in the crowd but a few minutes later, Ryou found them again, this time huddled low to the ground near a hallway. The two watched as Namu pulled Malik into a kiss seconds before Mai walked past and then they stalked down the hallway she had left.

“Oh, dear.” “What the hell.”

They spoke at the same time and shared identical expressions of disbelief before turning back to a still image of Malik standing in front of an open door, blocking the view of something that moved behind them.

“Is that guy naked?!” Bakhura yelled, jumping up from his chair and pointing at the screen emphatically. What were the chances there would be two naked guys at one club on the same night? He considered the chances to be nil, if not extremely low, so, what on earth was Malik doing with a guy that could turn into a monster?

“I believe so,” Ryou muttered, fingers flying over the keyboard. The image zoomed in and sharpened to show a very pale ass slipping out the back door over Malik’s shoulder, the person draped over another fully clad body. “In-indeed it is.” He glanced at the other, cheeks flush.

Bakhura’s heart started pounding as Ryou played the video again and Malik followed the two strangers out of the door. Switching to the outside camera footage, the two followed the group’s movements across the parking lot until they piled into a car.

“Shit, I can’t see what kind of car it is.” Bakhura, still standing, leaned over the desk for a closer inspection, even as Ryou zoomed in.

“Unfortunately, I can’t zoom in anymore, but I think there was a clear shot of the other two’s faces several frames before this.” He rewound the video of the outside cameras and paused, pointing at the taller blonde. “Do you know who that is?”

Bakhura scowled. “Kinda. Malik met him at the bar tonight and was gonna go home with him, but I really doubt this is what they had planned. What the hell was his name…”

As Bakhura speculated out loud, wracking his addled brain for that elusive name—Norman? No, definitely not—Ryou’s finger slid across the monitor to point at the man being escorted. “That’s Valon.”

Bakhura’s head snapped around to look at Ryou. The other’s brows bumped together in consternation and he worried his bottom lip when he caught Bakhura’s eye. Bakhura was surprised that he would admit to knowing a naked man that had been hidden away in his nightclub behind a locked door; it was not the sort of thing a newly opened nightclub would want the press to be aware of. Unsure if he really wanted to know the truth, or that he could even handle it, but hoping that any sort of answer would help to alleviate the ambivalence of this night, Bakhura asked, “How do you know him?”

“Mai found him sneaking around earlier, presumably trying to break in and steal something.”

While he knew that to be true, the manner in which Ryou had spoken to Valon earlier suggested to Bakhura that they hadn’t just met that night. They had at least known of each other prior, so much so that Ryou hadn’t been surprised at all by Valon’s transformation, and the trespasser had referred to Ryou by some unknown name that had sounded more like a title. Bakhura watched the other’s face closely and attempted to keep any suspicion out of his voice with his next question.

“But why would he go naked to steal something? Isn’t it bad form to try and rob someone while sticking out like a sore thumb and having no way of hiding whatever you stole when you make the getaway?” Despite how he tried to level his tone, some wariness slipped out; Bakhura hoped Ryou would attribute it to suspicion against Valon and not himself.

Ryou raised then dropped his shoulders. “Then maybe he wasn’t trying to steal anything, but just play a prank?” he proposed. His bright eyes did not waver from Bakhura’s own gaze and if the Egyptian didn’t know for sure that the other was lying, he probably would have believed the suggestion.

He was at another impasse, the same as the one he had faced moments before. Did he want to continue pressing Ryou for the whole truth at the risk of staining the other’s hands with Bakhura’s own blood if it turned out that he had been witness to something he really shouldn’t have seen? Or did he just drop it, belay his inquiries and take what help Ryou could give him to find Malik? He continued to stare down at the other, his own brows knitting together in contemplation as Ryou gazed back at him curiously, head tilted.

Skin soft as silk, sweet with a bitter after taste, a clean and pleasant scent like laundry drying on the line and fluttering in the spring breeze. Bakhura’s hectic musings blanked the moment Ryou stretched up from his chair to close the gap between them. It was a short kiss, a testing of boundaries and when the corner of Bakhura’s mouth lifted into a smirk, Ryou kissed him again with a smile of his own and didn’t pull away this time. Reflexively, Bakhura closed his eyes and leaned into the other’s touch with his own lips. His hand slid up to the back of Ryou’s neck, the tips of his fingers brushing at the tangled baby hairs and making their way up the scalp until the slighter male shivered beneath the touch. Bakhura was positive he had just been thinking of some very pertinent conundrum, but the thoughts slid through his mind like sand in a sieve when one of them moaned into the kiss. Or maybe it was both of them that sighed in satisfaction, he wasn’t sure. All of his focus was concentrated on the tingling in his bottom lip where Ryou had nibbled lightly and then swiped his tongue over it as though to apologize for any pain he might have caused. They only pulled away moments later when their lungs protested the lack of air.

Ryou languidly opened his eyes, lids heavy, pupils blown as they roamed over Bakhura’s reddened lips and up to his violet eyes. Both of their chests heaved, and they sported matching blushes. A smile spread across Ryou’s face.

“My apologies for doing that so suddenly, but we were interrupted earlier and,” he paused, searching for the right words and then huffed, “it was all I could think about.”

Bakhura’s fingers carded through Ryou’s hair and trailed down the back of his neck. He rubbed his calloused thumb at the juncture where neck met jaw and Ryou tilted his head into the tender touch. “Nah, don’t say sorry ‘cause I was gonna do it eventually if you weren’t.”

Both of Ryou’s hands reached up to hold onto Bakhura’s one, his alabaster skin cool against the other’s radiating warmth. One thumb caressed the faint pulse of Bakhura’s wrist. They sat like that for several moments, exchanging soft smiles as their breathing steadied and the room became silent. Eventually, Ryou brushed his lips against the inside of the other’s hand and slid his chair away.

“We should get back to the task at hand and find Malik,” he sighed. He stood from his chair and moved to the back of the room. He crouched down at a dark wooden cabinet and opened its doors to reveal neat stacks of papers and folded rags, boxes of pens, and a small safe at the very bottom which he began to wind.

Sufficiently calmed from the unexpected but not unappreciated kiss, Bakhura’s previously allayed thoughts reemerged, rolling in slowly like a fog before they consumed him again. His hand flew to his mouth, and where it had prickled pleasantly before, it now scorched as though burned. He remembered now that he had last seen Valon’s blood upon Ryou’s lips, not wine. Ryou was withholding something about the naked man in his club. He was hiding something about himself, something that gave him the ability to wound with imperceptible movements. Bakhura’s head jerked up and his jaw clenched tight as Ryou turned around again, a golden object glinting in his hand.

* * *

_Boundless darkness on all sides that envelopes the body. Air thick with pressure that smothers the senses._

_A part of the blackness that could have been the ground—there is no up or down in infinite space—shined by a light that did not exist and began to ripple. The surface bulged. Something breached and rose slowly from nothingness. As it propelled itself, the prevailing silence was replaced by humming and hissing, white noise that swelled louder and louder still. It reached a crescendo when the object fully bared._

_An open eye made of old gold._

Malik awoke in darkness in a bed that was not theirs. They gasped for air and wrenched themselves up, a hand flying to their head as they remembered the pain of their headache, the tittering voices, the dream. When they noticed the sheets in which they were tangled were unfamiliar, their eyes bounced around the room for an answer that did not come. It was a simple room with a simple bed, a single chair and bedside table. The door was closed and Malik was alone.

Balling the bedding in their hands, Malik forced themself to breathe in through their nose, out through their mouth. Just breathe. Seconds passed, maybe minutes and they remembered more, like the blonde man they were supposed to go home with, and the naked one they had helped Namu abscond from the nightclub. By that time, the pain in Malik’s head had become too much to bear and they had passed out with a desperate cry. That was everything that came to mind.

Malik extracted themself from the blankets and threw their legs over the side, pausing to hold their head again through a wave of vertigo. Slowly, after their mind was no longer adrift at sea, they stood. Their knees buckled and they reached out to the bedside table for support, knocking over a cup of water and a sheet of paper that landed in the puddle. Even slower now, and using the wall for support, Malik made their way across the near empty room to the door. Their body ached and they suddenly regretted the cat suit that clung to their every curve as though trying to incinerate and suffocate them.

The door was locked. They twisted the handle again and shook the door on its hinges. They smacked an open hand against the frame in frustration.

“Someone unlock this door right now!” they snapped.

_Click_. Malik turned the knob again and the door swung open.

The landing was dark, and Malik idly wondered if this house even had electricity. As soon as the thought crossed their mind, they knew the answer to their question was yes, though they were unsure _how_ they knew. Telling themself they would explore the idea a little later, they walked down the hallway, still holding onto the walls, stepping as quietly as their boots would allow them on the hardwood floor. All of the other doors were closed except for one and Malik slowly peered around the corner, only to freeze when they saw movement on the other side. Eyes wide from fear and a poor attempt at improving their vision, they eventually recognized the quivering outline as their messy hair reflected back at them from a mirror hanging over a sink, a bathroom.

Continuing on, they reached a staircase. The steps twisted once around themselves and led to a hallway with a door visible on one end. Leaning over the banister, they saw the light of a distant room and heard a mix of voices. Some of them were muffled in calm until the door by the stairs whooshed open, slammed closed and then they were drowned out under a shout.

“Where the hell is Namu!”

Malik tore away from the banister and pressed against the wall. They had seen a blonde, bellowing man enter from what was probably the front door. Luckily, he hadn’t looked up or he too would have seen Malik peering down at him. Instead, he had walked forward toward the lighted room and the other voices.

“I’m right here, Rafael, no need to yell,” a voice, that Malik recognized as Namu’s, drawled.

“Hey, Rafael! You’ll never believe just how helpful ol’ Namu here—”

“Shut it, Valon, I don’t give a fuck if Namu gave you the kiss of life. He brought a witch into my house and I want to know why!”

Malik physically bit their tongue to keep from yelling out._ I can show you what a witch looks like._

“I didn’t know they were a witch until we were already on the way here, and they freaked out. Nearly crashed my car when their power went haywire.”

Someone laughed; Malik guessed it was the blonde by the way his voice echoed through the house. “You mean to tell me,” his voice was incredulous while pretending to sound joking, “not only did you bring a witch into MY house without asking first, but you brought an unstable one that can’t even control their damn powers? One that could blow up this whole house during something as fucking simple as a temper tantrum!”

“Raf, be reasonable—”

“I’ll show you reasonable!”

Malik’s eyebrows disappeared into their bangs when one of the walls shook. Sounds of a muffled scuffle carried upwards, bodies struggling against bodies and feet shuffling. Surprised and indignant shouts turned into hideous snarls that threw Malik on their ass in surprise. The possibility that someone had turned on the television to the Discovery Channel and blasted the volume vaguely crossed their mind. They could have sworn they had heard a similar fight between male lions fighting over territory in a documentary. But a TV show couldn’t account for the tactile tremors that shook the house or the furniture that was being audibly upturned and broken. Someone was yelling out over the fight, begging whatever creatures that had suddenly manifested to stop fighting and get a hold of themselves.

The rampage only stopped when a knock rapped against the front door.

As though someone had flipped a switch, the house was immediately silent. Another knock. Malik saw who they assumed to be Rafael run from down the hallway, now limping and shirtless, and tugging his pants over his hips. Taking a moment to catch his breath, he opened the door.

“Oh, it's you.” He slumped away.

“Please, Rafael, do try to contain your excitement.”

Another man stepped across the threshold. He wore a business suit in a blue only a few shades darker than his waist length hair. His golden eyes darted around the foyer and up to the staircase so rapidly that Malik had barely any time to hide against the wall again. Their body tensed for the oncoming realization of their reconnaissance, yet no discovery followed.

The two men continued the way Rafael had come and the newcomer confirmed Malik's earlier suspicions. “I know all of you are animalistic, but must you live in such squalor?”

“You can blame that on Rafael, he’s the one that started the fight.”

“Because you’re risking our whole operation on a honeypot!”

Rafael's and Namu's voices devolved into incoherent yelling, but they quieted just as suddenly as they had when there was a knock at the door. Malik couldn’t see what had calmed them this time.

“You all give me a headache. Clean up this mess so we may begin, and you can explain what happened, one at a time.”

Furniture scraped against the ground and shards of glass clinked as they were swept up. The door to the room closed and voices now spoke indiscernibly on the other side. Growing curiouser, Malik cautiously continued down the staircase, taking each step deliberately and pausing lest the old wood groan and give away their presence. They would simply listen for just a moment, they promised themself, to hear if the group spoke about anything interesting before they made for the front door to leave the men none the wiser of their escape. They pressed their ear to the crack in the door.

“—is still tailing the Supreme. With her foresight, they’re being extra cautious in going after her.”

“Yes, that is understandable. However, since Aigami is also taking his time and you, Valon, seem only capable of getting caught, someone needs to make a move soon to procure one of the Items. We do not care which as any of the three all serve the same purpose. Redouble your efforts so that we can move forward as soon as possible.”

The other three men muttered their consent. It was obvious that the man with blue hair and golden eyes was the ringleader of whatever operation this group was running.

“Now, tell me, what was this disagreement about a honeypot?” A smattering of voices rose up before one cut through them all with an innate tone of authority, “Valon, you explain.”

“Oh, well, when I was at Millennium and got thrown in the brig, Namu came to help me with a witch friend of his and—”

“A witch friend?” the man inquired with an accusatory lilt.

“Yeah, only he didn't know they were a witch at the time until they freaked out in the back of the car and nearly blew our eardrums out with some kind of sound attack. But it didn't seem like they did it on purpose ‘cause they looked sick and their eyes rolled up and everything then they passed out.”

Malik felt their face tighten in frustration. These men were using the word witch as though it was routine for them and spitting it out like a slur. And a sound attack? Malik would concede that they had some power of prescience that was either hereditary or a shared delusion with Isis, but nothing they could do warranted being labeled as an attack. Just what sort of group had they gotten themselves mixed up with?

The leader’s voice broke the contemplative silence that had followed Valon’s retelling of the night’s events. “I see. Rafael, your concern is what exactly?”

“It just seems a little too convenient that Namu so happened to pick up a witch on the night Valon was hitting up the Dracul. Besides, he was supposed to be watching Valon’s back, and since he didn’t do his job, Valon got caught.”

“Yes, that was very negligent on your part, Namu, to not provide adequate cover for Valon. I would say it's just as much your fault that tonight was a failure.”

“Thank you!” Rafael huffed and a slap rang through the air as though he had hit his own knees in dramatic vindication.

“Yes, I understand,” Namu finally answered, the fight now gone from his voice.

“As unfortunate as it is that you impacted the mission, a witch on our team could prove helpful if we can turn them to our side. Pray tell, what is the witch's name?”

“Ishtar Malik.”

Someone gasped and the unnamed man's laughter reverberated through the room. As orotund as it was, it was deep and carried with it a thick air of satisfaction. It raised the hairs on the back of Malik’s neck and their body quivered from a sudden rush of adrenaline.

_Get out!_ their senses shouted to them. But fear kept them rooted, unable to control the muscles in their legs.

“I withdraw my previous statement. You have done us a great service tonight, Namu.” The man's chair scraped against the ground and Rafael stuttered in disbelief. “Now that I know our guest's name, I can properly greet them.”

The man pulled open the door and Malik tumbled into the room face first, barely managing to catch themself in time before they ate carpet.

“Ishtar!” Namu cried out.

“Rafael, something to bind our guest with, please.”

“With pleasure.”

People shuffled around Malik as they scampered to get up, but a foot came down forcibly on their back and knocked the air out of their lungs. Rafael returned and along with Valon—Namu had not moved from his surprised, half raised position in the corner—bound Malik’s hands behind them and then their ankles. Closing the door, the four men positioned themselves in front of where Malik lay on the floor. The blue-haired man sat in the middle.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Ishtar.”

Malik struggled to push themself into a seated position using only their shoulders. They had begun to sweat profusely from the intense panic and clinging catsuit, but their eyes flashed to the man speaking to them. “Wish I could say the same. What do you want with me?”

Valon and Rafael sat around their ringleader. Valon's eyes constantly shifted from Malik to the man sitting in the center, leg bouncing. Rafael was hunched over with his elbows on his knees, hands twisting in each other’s grasps. Combined with the wicked smile that showed all of his teeth, he looked ready to devour Malik. Namu had straightened himself and stood behind them all, arms tucked tight around his chest. When Malik caught his wide-eyed stare, he shook his head almost imperceptibly.

“Your family name is Ishtar, correct? Then am I to presume that your elder sister’s name is Isis?”

Malik’s mind raced in confusion. What did Isis have to do with any of this? “Sorry, I don’t have a sister.”

“Now, now, I simply asked that question to see if you were willing to cooperate with me. I must urge you to be truthful, Ishtar, or I will let Rafael have his way with you, and I am sure that you are aware he is none too happy that you are here.”

They glanced at the blonde and he licked his lips dramatically.

“Fine but tell me your name first. Who are you?”

“You may call me Dartz. Your sister is Ishtar Isis?”

“Yes, but if this has anything to do with KaibaCorp, you should know they don’t negotiate with kidnappers. Kaiba Seto would rather see me come home in a body bag than give you any money.”

The long hair around Dartz’s head wavered as he shook his head. “We have no interest in Kaiba Seto’s money. We are however interested in your sister’s abilities and her standing as the current Supreme.”

Shock colored Malik’s face. How did this man know about Isis’ powers and what the hell was a Supreme? They tried to sound as honest as possible when they replied, “Sorry, I have no clue what you’re talking about.” At least it was a half-truth.

The interrogator’s placid face gave way to a smirk. “Rafael.”

The other man stood up. The muscles in his bare arms and chests pulled taut as he stepped forward and reached out for Malik. They squirmed away as best they could but without the use of their arms or legs, they only inched along so far before the hand clamped around their head and squeezed. From the corner of their eye, Malik could see Namu push themselves off the wall and his arms fall down in fists at his side, yet he remained silent.

After several seconds of enduring increasing pressure that showed no signs of relenting, Malik spluttered, “All right! I’ll talk!”

Rafael released his grip and Malik slouched backwards, pushing themself away as fast as they could manage as Rafael returned to his seat. Dartz waited for Malik to catch their breath.

“Ok, yeah, my sister can see the future or whatever. But I have no clue what a Supreme is, I swear!” they yelled the last part desperately and ducked their head as Rafael flexed his fingers.

“I believe you, Ishtar. It seems to me that your sister has neglected in teaching you about your heritage as a witch. As Supreme, she is the most powerful of your kind, and as you are related, I believe you could have a similar power.” Dartz’s gaze was appreciative, calculating Malik's supposed worth.

Though they were scared, they could not withhold a disbelieving scoff. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. I know it’s Halloween, but you actually believe in witches and all that crap?”

The smirk returned and Malik's body tensed in anticipation. “Rafael, please demonstrate.”

This time he made no move toward Malik when he stood. Instead, he began to remove his pants until he stood as naked as the day he was born. Malik started to look away in embarrassment until they noticed the peculiar way in which Rafael's body moved. His form undulated and expanded. The pale skin disappeared beneath course black fur and his hands and feet morphed into paws. His face elongated and his blonde hair melted away. A sun bear stood in the same spot a human man had before and licked his white maw.

Malik pressed themselves against the wall, trying to get as far from the animal as possible. Their eyes shone black in fear, gaze affixed on the creature before them. If someone was speaking, they couldn’t hear it as the same screeching noise from an hour before broke through the sound of their ragged breathing. The bear dropped to all fours and let out a pained cry. One hand over his ear, Dartz signaled to Rafael to revert back just as the light overhead blew out.

“Ishtar… Ishtar… Malik!”

Hands wrapped around Malik's shoulders shook them awake. Not yet recognizing whose grip they were in, they thrashed around and kicked out at the man hovering over them. One foot made contact with his knee.

“Calm down!” Namu chastised with a wince.

Falling limp in his grip, Malik's eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness of the room. Rafael and Valon were gone. The silhouette of Dartz stood in the middle of the room, something pressed to his face. When Valon returned with a lamp, Malik could see Dartz was holding a handkerchief to one ear. It was stained maroon with blood.

Namu caught Malik's chin in his hand to force them to make eye contact. Focusing on his steady gaze, they slowed their breathing and the frantic beat of their heart. They wished their hands were free to wipe away the sweat soaked bangs from their forehead, feeling like a fish that had flopped onto the deck.

“Move aside, Namu.”

He gave Malik’s shoulders a slight squeeze before his hands fell away and he started to pull away. Something unfamiliar flashed in his eyes and he leaned forward again, broad hand pushing back the hair sticking to Malik's face. They flinched under his touch and the emotion in his eyes that Malik did not recognize faded out. He stood up and returned to the corner of the room.

“Very impressive, Ishtar, but it does confirm my suspicions that you are a witch and an untrained one at that.” Dartz inspected the bloodied handkerchief. If he was angry, his face remained impassive. “However, if you agree to aid us in our plight, you have the potential to rival your own sister. If I agree to train you, will you help us?”

Malik no longer had the energy to laugh at the ridiculousness of his question. “Why would I help you?” they asked weakly. If this is what the world of magic had in store for them, they wanted nothing of it.

Dartz stepped forward and crouched by Malik. He held the handkerchief close to the other's nose. Malik recoiled at the putrid smell and gagged.

“My body may look whole, Ishtar, but I assure you that I am quite dead. Though I possess a corporeal form, there are some things outside of my abilities, thus my personal mission is to acquire a new body. Some of my companions have less selfish desires, such as acceptance and propagation of their species. Would you deny them that right? Would you deny them the chance to make the world a more accepting place for their kind?”

Nose still wrinkled, Malik glanced over at Namu and wondered what his place was in all of this. His face gave them nothing to work with. They turned their gaze back to Dartz who looked down at them expectantly. Malik mustered as much energy as they could into a narrow eyed glare and curled their upper lip in distaste.

“I don’t think I wanna work with someone who keeps me tied up without a safe word,” they ground out.

A shadow of a sneer passed over Dartz’s face as he stood. “Very well. We will see if you feel the same in a week’s time. Namu, please show our guest upstairs and ensure they are adequately hydrated, but they shall not be afforded food until they agree to my proposal.” He glanced down at his watch. “I have another appointment to attend. I trust you to take care of them.” Without looking back at Namu, Dartz left the room and the house.

Valon shuffled from behind the lamp. “You, uh, you need some help, Namu?”

Namu peeled themselves away from the wall, face still stoic as he stalked toward Malik’s wilted body. Ignoring their feeble protests, he hauled them bodily over his shoulder and left the room, Valon mumbling dishearteningly in his wake. Namu bounded up the stairs and returned Malik to the same room they had woken up in. Despite his seemingly ill-tempered silence, he set them gently on the bed, grabbed the upturned glass and left the room. Running water shuddered the old pipes before Namu returned with a fresh drink. He put it to Malik’s mouth, but they remained tight lipped.

“Just drink, Ishtar,” he sighed wearily.

Malik opened their mouth with plans to protest and choked on the cold liquid instead. Namu thumped them on the back.

“Ishtar… is it?” they hacked out between coughs.

A corner of Namu’s mouth twisted into a smirk, breaking his cool façade. “You passing out in my car puts us on a first name basis? Drink.”

Malik returned a weak smile and shrugged as they took a few sips of water. When they finished, Namu set the glass on the bedside table and made to leave.

“Wait.”

He turned back around in surprise. Malik’s eyes flickered from Namu to the chair and back again, and he took the hint and sat down. Malik shifted on the bed so the circulation could return to their legs and hands. Blood sufficiently pumping to all their limbs, they leveled their gaze on Namu again. Violet eyes searched the other’s face before they cleared their throat and spoke.

“Did you only come up to me at the club because you knew what I was?” Malik asked.

Namu’s mouth dropped open in shock before he found the wits to close it. He opened it again to answer.

The house vibrated as the front door crashed down.


	3. Desired Constellation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What once was lost is found but at a cost. Promised answers are left for later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On to chapter three! A few announcements.
> 
> \- If it's not obvious uh the title/every chapter is named after a song, and I've made [a playlist with the songs here!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4DwN47kx2zUwvkoQNbScPJ)
> 
> \- I forgot to say in the last chapter, the idea of Supreme referenced here was taken from AHS Coven. Not all of the mechanics are the same, but that's my fav season and it's such a badass name for a badass character.

The hard edge of the cabinet bit into the soft flesh of Ryou’s hip as he flinched at the wild-eyed stare with which Bakhura now met him. He reflexively clutched the golden item to his chest. His mouth felt dry and his mind raced in contemplation on how to approach the visibly tense man across from him. What could have set him off in the few seconds it took to open the safe? Initial shock abated and concerned for the other, Ryou stepped forward, one hand still pressed tight against his ribs, the other stretching out— the violet gaze following the movement before returning to his surprised face—to brush against Bakhura’s hunched shoulder.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

The crazed gleam faded under the temperate intensity of Ryou’s question. Bakhura ducked his head and internally cursed himself for allowing his discomfort to show so easily. Still undecided on his warring emotions concerning the surreptitious club owner, now was not the time to allow his personal conflicts to override his familial obligations and distract him from the task at hand. 

When he turned his attention to Ryou again, he glanced at the item clenched between long, pale fingers instead of making eye contact.

He jerked his chin towards Ryou’s hands. “What’s that thing?”

Consciously taking in its form now rather than as a diversion, Bakhura’s eyebrows raised in admiration at the enigma: a circlet not much bigger than the hand that cradled it protectively. When Ryou turned it around, he revealed a triangle positioned in its middle with an open eye on its flat surface. Five evenly spaced cones hung from the bottom half that Bakhura thought resembled tear drops. The whole piece was made of gold, its texture worn but sheening under the soft light of the office.

“Ok, but what is it?” he repeated, finally turning his confused gaze upwards.

Ryou’s head tilted to the side, a habit that Bakhura had begun to recognize as either confusion or curiosity on the other’s part and was, though he dared not say it out loud, rather cute. Now, Ryou looked confused as his brows knitted together, and he studied Bakhura’s face. He opened his mouth to say something, paused as though he’d thought better of it, and then explained, “Well, I wasn’t quite sure if I would use this or not considering your trepidation about your sister’s powers...” 

His voice petered out at Bakhura’s groan. “You too, then? This some sort of magical doohickey that’s supposed to help us find Malik?” His silvery hair danced around his face as he shook his head in exasperation.

A blush blossomed on Ryou’s cheeks and his mouth pursed into a pout. “I’ll have you know this is one of the most powerful magical objects in the world and finding a missing person is probably the most simplistic thing it could do. But if you’d rather we search for a trail of breadcrumbs, I’d be happy to put it back.” Nose in the air, he moved to return the item to its safe but was brought to a halt by a firm grip on his elbow.

“Wait a second, I’m sorry,” Bakhura chuckled. Ryou turned back around, bottom lip still jutting out of a face that clearly stated he did not buy the other’s apology. Clearing his throat, he continued with a more sincere tone, “I really am sorry. I don’t doubt these… abilities of yours, or the item’s. It’s just that Isis already told me she couldn’t see Malik when she, uh, did whatever she does.” He waved a hand absently in the air.

The ends of Ryou’s long white hair tickled the sides of Bakhura’s upturned face as he tilted his head again in consideration. “Isis’ magic didn’t work…” he mumbled. Ryou's eyes glazed over as Bakhura's hand fell away and he tried, but failed, not to stare at Ryou's bottom lip being worried thoughtfully between his teeth. After several moments of silence, his two-toned, clouded eyes cleared and he simply shrugged. “We won’t know until we try, right? But I’ll need your help.”

Bakhura grimaced but nodded in agreement. The idea of searching blindly through the city far outweighed his discomfort for magic. 

Ryou removed his overcoat and draped it over his chair before folding the sleeves of his button-down to the elbow. Bakhura tore his gaze away—_Focus!_ _You're here to find Malik, _he reminded himself—but could hear the other as he sat and rolled his chair close enough so that their knees brushed. Ryou held the Ring between them, eye side up, points dancing in the air before they settled.

“Now, put your hands over mine.”

“If you wanted me to hold your hand, all you had to do was ask,” Bakhura quipped in an effort to distract from the red of his cheeks. Ryou’s shoulders shook with laughter and sent the cones of the Ring dancing again while Bakhura did as instructed. Ryou’s skin was cool in Bakhura’s grasp. “What next?” His eyes watched the swinging points with incredulity.

“Just think about Malik. What they look like, their voice, their whole presence so that the Ring has something to home in on.”

“The Ring?” Disbelief colored his voice to match his wary eyes.

“The Millennium Ring,” Ryou elaborated. 

Bakhura huffed a laugh. “Millennium, eh?”

Ryou’s lips lifted into a smirk. “Close your eyes and concentrate.”

They both closed their eyes and listened to the other’s hushed breathing over the muffled music that enveloped the soundproofed office. Bakhura tried to ignore the tingling feeling across his palm where their skin met and cursed the slick sweat accumulating there. Instead, he concentrated on imagining his younger sibling: their unfailingly styled hair and paint-chipped fingernails; the way they held their stomach when laughing at something particularly funny; the serious set of their mouth whenever someone asked for their help. He pictured their Halloween outfit, the reflective patent leather catsuit and that stupid tail.

“Oh.”

Bakhura opened his eyes. One point of the Ring swung back and forth lazily. It stuck straight out for a moment, pointing toward the left side of the room, and then collapsed as though out of breath. He could feel Ryou’s knuckles tensing under his grip.

“Whatever was interfering with your sister’s magic seems to have an effect on mine as well, but if we can bring up even a weak signal, we should be able to get to Malik eventually.” Though his words attempted to be encouraging, the grim line of Ryou’s mouth and the concerned wrinkle of his nose did not instill much confidence.

His hands fell away from Ryou’s and immediately missed the lack of contact, fingers twitching with an unfamiliar ache. Ryou left to find Mai, the Millennium Ring resting against his chest where it hung from his neck by a weathered cord. 

Bakhura headed for the exit to meet the pair outside. Standing on the sidewalk, he envisioned the point of the ring, the position of the office and, turning his body around in circles to determine the orientation, figured that the point had indicated the same direction as the unidentified car on the security footage. He sighed in relief.

A hand clamped down on Bakhura’s shoulder. “I hear we’re going on a rescue mission!” Mai declared. She had changed into a white button down top and black leather pants but wore the same high heeled boots as before. A smile dangling from her lips, she seemed visibly excited for whatever they were heading towards.

“A rescue mission,” Bakhura repeated in confusion. With Isis’ clairvoyance on the fritz and Malik not answering his calls, he had not allowed himself to think of what they were doing as a ‘rescue’ as that implied that Malik was in trouble rather than difficult to contact. The relief that had previously flooded him began to ebb away.

“Mai, please.” Ryou followed behind her and shot her an almost pleading look as Bakhura’s face paled. He had opted to leave his suitcoat behind.

She waved off his concerns and continued, “A sibling gets dragged off by a stranger from a bar and a _ naked _ stranger from a bar. That’s a rescue mission no matter what type of mutt we’re dealing with.”

“_Mai _.” His voice flexed into a more authoritative tone, taut and thrumming with newfound energy. A heavy atmosphere settled over the group and the hairs on the back of Bakhura’s neck stood up, energy coiling over his skin. Only when Mai stood straighter and nodded at him, hand falling from Bakhura’s shoulder, did the pressure dissipate.

They followed Bakhura into the parking lot and Mai let out an appreciative whistle at Malik’s classic muscle car. “Redid the whole thing themself," Bakhura commented. She slid into the back seat with ease and Ryou sat in the front to navigate.

“I’m, uh, going to have to keep skin contact with you in order for the Ring to work,” Ryou mumbled.

Bakhura cocked an eyebrow but kept his thoughts to himself. He would have to ask Ryou if mind reading was one of his powers later as the club owner looked down at his hands with ruddy cheeks. Bakhura shrugged off his jacket, revealing a plain white t-shirt underneath, and Ryou wrapped a hand around the crook of his elbow so that he could still shift gears freely. A shiver ran over his russet skin underneath the chilly grip and Bakhura made a mental note that if he were ever in the position of buying Ryou a gift, it would be another pair of gloves.

They drove in the same direction the other car had left, following the points of the Ring that guided them listlessly in different directions down the streets of Domino. As unsure as Bakhura had been about using magic, his tepid belief in its reliability waned with each passing minute. He would have guessed that it was conspiring against them with the way it guided them towards dead ends or in seemingly endless circles around town, sometimes to neighborhoods he had never been. 

An hour into their rescue mission, which was beginning to feel more like a runaround, an abrupt realization sent icy dread trickling down Bakhura’s spine. What were the chances that this actually_ was _a ruse to trap him along with Malik? He knew nothing about the two people in the car other than the fact that they knew a shapeshifter who had gone off with his sibling. How did he know the three of them weren’t working together? The thought almost had Bakhura braking in the middle of the highway and kicking his passengers to the curb.

“Everything OK?” Ryou looked up from the now lifeless points of the Ring to Bakhura, who kept his eyes trained on the road lest they give away his thoughts, and pressed the pads of his fingers into the arm muscles that had tensed beneath them. Bakhura simply nodded and tried to conjure up the memory of Malik’s last birthday—they had gone to a roller rink and Bakhura was sure that he still had bruises from his numerous falls—that had been abated by his paranoid delusions. At least, he hoped they were delusions and he hadn’t walked straight into a trap.

Near hour two of their search, Bakhura was itching to throw the damn Ring out of the window when Mai stirred in the back seat. “There!” She pointed over Bakhura’s shoulder toward a house at the end of a cul-de-sac. It was a two-story American style home, paint faded to a drab grey and shutters weather stained. With the front porch light off, the shadows that fell over the building stretched wide and hung like voids into the unknown, challenging them to enter at their own risk. 

Mai’s finger followed a man with long aquamarine hair walking away from the house and climbing into a silver, unmarked sedan. Bakhura pulled into an empty driveway two houses down and they watched from behind tinted windows as the car drove away.

Ryou let the Ring hang freely from his neck and unbuckled his seat belt. “Ishtar, wait here and we’ll be back in just a second.”

Mai spoke before Bakhura could protest. “That’s not going to work, Ryou. Even if we did convince those animals to invite us in, you think Ishtar is gonna wanna come with us? They don’t even know who we are.” She shook her hair over her shoulder and gestured to Bakhura. “Let’s just run interference and he can go in and get them.”

Lips pressed into a hard line as though preparing a rebuttal but failing to find one, Ryou nodded. “You’re right. I wasn’t thinking properly.” He turned back to Bakhura. The seriousness of Ryou’s gaze caused a new wave of uncertainty to take hold of him, anxiety coiling in Bakhura’s stomach like a snake. “If anything happens, just yell out my name and I’ll be there as soon as I can. When you get Malik, head straight to your sister’s home and we’ll meet you there.”

A million and one questions popcorned in Bakhura’s mind, but all he could muster was a muted, “Ok.”

The trio piled out of the car, each casting furtive glances around the neighborhood and to the unwelcoming house toward which they headed. It was eerily quiet for a night dedicated to welcoming the supernatural with chants and costumes, the deserted streets dusted silver by the light of the moon peeking through the clouds. 

Ryou directed Bakhura to hide on the side of the house and wait for their signal.

“What’s the signal?”

“Don’t worry, you’ll know it!” Mai answered with a devious wink. Ryou rolled his eyes but nodded in confirmation as they walked to the front door.

Bakhura took his position and waited, ears strained for a warning he was afraid to miss. He hadn’t long to worry when the wall he leaned against vibrated beneath him and a loud crack of wood splitting in two rang out through the silent neighborhood. Something fell with a heavy thud onto the porch.

“Yoohoo! Valon, come out and play!” Mai yelled cheerfully.

She appeared then in midair as she jumped off the porch, hovering over the front lawn for so long that Bakhura thought she was flying, and landed in the street. Valon bounded down the front steps after her, throwing off his shirt behind him, and she took off like a bullet into the woods surrounding the neighborhood. Ryou followed just as swiftly with someone else hot on his tail, a blonde man that Bakhura vaguely recognized who tripped to pull off his pants.

“You’ve done it now, Dracul!” he roared. The last thing Bakhura saw was the man’s amorphous form growing larger, turning black, and then blending into the gloom of the trees. 

Silent save the sound of his racked breathing, Bakhura ran from his hiding place and into the house. The door, ripped off its hinges, lay in the foyer. The wood had crumpled in on itself from a single point of impact in its center. Confused but with no time for questions, he continued down the hallway, poking his head into the few rooms on the first floor in his search. They were all empty.

“Malik!” he hissed.

A voice spoke behind him, “Are you the one that broke down the door?”

Bakhura whirled around and lunged at Namu, bringing them both tumbling to the floor in the narrow hall. He fisted the collar of the other’s shirt in his hands and tugged up, then slammed him back down into the ground. And then did it once more for good measure. Namu cried out beneath him and struggled to push Bakhura off him.

“Where the hell is Malik!” he bellowed.

“They’re upstairs! Get off me, you—ugh!” Namu’s protests caught in his throat as Bakhura’s clenched fist made solid contact with his cheek and then the side of his neck. 

As Namu cringed away, hacking and fighting to inhale properly, Bakhura leapt up and ran toward the stairs, taking them two at a time. “Malik!” he yelled out, throwing open the nearest door in a rush.

“Last room on the left!” 

Bakhura followed Malik’s call to the nearly empty room at the end of the hall. He rushed to the bedside, one hand reaching out to ruffle their blonde mane as he kissed the top of their head, just happy to see them as alive as he had envisioned them earlier when conjuring their likeness for the Millennium Ring. The snake that had been poised to strike at Bakhura’s heart settled back into his belly with an annoyed flick of its tail. Taking a step back, he tugged fruitlessly at the rope bound around Malik’s wrists and ankles.

“Bakhura! Was that you making all that noise?” Malik questioned in astonishment as they leaned over to give him better access to their bindings.

“Not quite,” he grumbled. He cursed under his breath as his shaky hands fumbled with the rope. A few more seconds and he would just throw them over his shoulder and make a run for it.

“Here, you fucking asshole,” Namu growled from the doorway. He held a knife, handle side out, to Bakhura who took it cautiously. In his other hand, Namu nursed his swollen cheek with a bag of frozen peas.

Bakhura hacked at the bonds until they fell away and helped Malik to their feet, throwing one of their arms around his neck when they stumbled. Walking briskly out the door, Bakhura only nodded at Namu and continued on.

“Wait.” Malik caught the edge of the doorframe and struggled to look over their shoulder and Bakhura’s arm to see back into the room. “Amari—”

“Just go.” Namu did not turn around.

The Ishtar siblings left without another word. Standing alone in the middle of the room, the icy bag numbed Namu's face and fingers. He looked down at the soggy paper stickered to the ground, a muddy footprint adding to the distortion of the text bleeding across its surface.

_ Not safe. Stay here. Keep door locked. Take you home soon. N_

* * *

Bakhura slammed the car door shut behind Malik and rushed to the other side, nearly sliding over the hood. He threw the car into reverse as soon as the engine roared to life and gunned it out of the unfamiliar neighborhood. Turned around by having taken the scenic route at the Ring’s instruction, it took him several minutes to find the main road back into town and towards the home where Isis and Rishid still lived.

“Are we going to Isis’ house?” Malik questioned.

Eyes darting back and forth from the road to the rearview mirror, Bakhura did not afford Malik a glance. “Yeah.” As far as he could tell, no one was following them—in a car at least.

“Good. She and I need to have a talk.”

He did look at them now, surprised by the harshness of their tone. He turned onto the last winding road that led to his old home. “Why? What’s up?”

“Where do I even start?” They let out a wry laugh and slowly shook their head. “You wouldn’t believe half the shit I’ve seen tonight.” Malik ran a hand through their hair, fingers stiffening in realization. “I lost my headband…” they mumbled.

“Tell me about it,” Bakhura snorted. He ran a trembling hand over his face to find it slick with sweat. Previously resting, the anxiety snake poised to strike again with the flick of a tongue against its fangs; he still had two other people to worry about after getting Malik home safely. He knew one of them was being tailed by a panther; what sort of animal could Ryou be dealing with?

“Well, to start—” Malik gasped and jerked up in the passenger’s seat. They pressed their face to the window, eyes wide and struggling to focus on the forest whizzing past in the dark. “Did you see that?”

“What was it?” Bakhura’s grip on the steering wheel strained in response to the adrenaline that refused to taper off. He started to feel light-headed as his eyes bounced from the road to the woods to the rear-view mirrors and back.

Silent for a moment as they continued to search the inky scenery, Malik sighed and fell back in defeat. “Nothing.” But they did not take their worried gaze off the window and their mouth stayed contorted in a concerned frown.

The rest of the car ride was spent in silence. Reflecting on everything that had happened since Malik had picked him up for a night on the town, the gravity of the situation he had narrowly avoided settled over Bakhura with an onerous weight. Had any one thing happened differently that night, it was impossible to imagine what state he and Malik would be in now. If Bakhura had not given in to that alluring smile, could he have stopped Malik before they left with the two strange men? If he had not taken Ryou up on his offer to help, would he have ever been able to locate Malik on his own? The chances were slim and the worrying prospect of what could have been reawakened a longing that he had failed to subdue once that night. He racked his brain for places he knew he could hit, anywhere with coffers that he had yet to raid, anything that could belay the mounting panic toward the death of normality by the hands of the supernatural. Though he could not explain why, he knew that any sense of ordinary he had before was lost to the sands of time like the fading memories of a dream immediately after waking. If Bakhura had not been stuck in his own mind and thought to look, he would see his own grave expression mirrored on Malik’s face.

Coming up the last hill, the black slanted roof peeked over the tops of the trees before the whole of their traditional Japanese house came into view. Bakhura drove the car over loose gravel to park behind Rishid’s Jeep Wrangler.

“Who the hell is that?” Malik slumped in the seat until only the top of their blonde head was visible. They gestured to the front of the house where two people stood beside the door.

“That’s Bakura and...” He realized he didn’t know Mai’s last name. “And the woman from the bar. They’re the ones who helped me bust you out.”

“Bakura?” They wrinkled their nose and peered at the head of white hair over the lip of the window.

“Yeah, it’s weird, whatever,” he muttered and they both exited the car.

Ryou stood with his hands in his pockets, eyes upturned and mouth opened in a laugh at a joke Mai had told. Though he looked worse for wear—hair adorned with twigs and leaves, buttons of his vest ripped off so that it hung limp around his frame, shoes caked with mud—he didn’t appear injured and Bakhura felt the snake of anxiety in his stomach uncoiling and slinking away. His eyes, layered thick with relief, took stock of the man before him, roving over his body and elicited a pale blush on Ryou’s cheeks. It was Mai’s turn to laugh as Ryou fumbled to smooth his hair with a wince.

“Uhm, I don’t know who you two are, but thanks for helping me and my brother.” Malik bowed low and Bakhura rushed to follow suit, nearly taking Ryou out with his head.

“Kujaku Mai. Anytime you need a bit of muscle, just give us a call.” Mai cocked her head to the side with a welcoming grin. She had fared better than Ryou; not a strand of blonde hair was out of place and the white of her top was pristine.

“Bakura Ryou. We’re just happy to help.” He gave up on his attempts to right Bakhura from his prostration, hand stretching out to Malik in greeting.

All four of them jumped as the front door slid open and banged against the opposing wall. “Malik! Bakhura! Get in the house _now_!” Isis Ishtar stood in the doorway, hands clutching the frame so tightly her knuckles gleamed white. Her frantic eyes took in the forms of her younger siblings before rounding on Ryou and Mai with visible animosity and a sneer that both surprised and rattled Bakhura with its intensity. “I do not know what _you two_ are doing here, but you are not welcome to set foot in this house.”

Malik and Bakhura shuffled in past their sister, both leaning away from the furious aura eminating from her like a roaring fire. They spared each other confused glances. Though they had seen Isis mad before, they had never heard her voice dripping with such venom as she hurled at Ryou and Mai now. With them safely inside, she widened her stance to take up the whole of the doorway and drew herself up straight.

Ryou lifted his hands in a placating gesture, shoulders slumped. “Supreme, please, I believe we need to talk about what happened tonight.”

“I do not _ need _ to do anything, nor do I _ want _ to speak to you, Dracul,” Isis spat and moved to close the door. Bakhura’s eyes widened and bore into the back of his sister’s head as if the truth behind that name was braided into her hair. With his younger sibling now safe and sound at home, he could refocus his attention on the mystery of Ryou Bakura.

“Sister! At least listen to what he’s saying. Bakura and Kujaku helped save my life tonight,” Malik interceded. They put a hand on her shoulder and she visibly deflated. She looked down at Malik with lips etched in a soft frown, ready to protest, but stilled at the resolve with which they gazed back at her.

Sufficiently tamed, she turned back to the guests on the porch. “Only you may enter, Dracul, and only for as long as it may take for you to speak your piece. And that,” she pointed to the Millennium Ring that stared back at her, “must be left behind.” She stepped aside. Ryou and Mai spoke to each other in rushed and quiet voices and with a nod, the Ring now in her possession, Mai walked away from the house. 

Ryou left his soiled shoes in the _ genkan_, slipping on a pair of guest slippers and followed Isis to her study. Malik and Bakhura both watched her retreating back with matching stares of intensity.

The older of the two opened his mouth to question the other when Malik interrupted, “I’m going to shower.” And then he was alone.

Retreating to the living room, Bakhura tumbled face first into a throw pillow on the couch, feet hanging off the other end. He concentrated every wattage of his brain power on puzzling out the conundrum that had presented itself this Halloween. He had mentioned his sister to Ryou earlier and he’d seen her picture on his phone; but Ryou had made no indication that he’d known Isis. Yet it was clear that they were acquainted with each other, and Isis was transparent in her disdain for the one that she called Dracul. 

_ Dracul_. It was the third time someone had called the unassuming club owner by that name and Bakhura was no closer to discovering its origins than he was when he had first heard it. And this time, Ryou had referred to Isis by a different name as well, Supreme, to which she had not objected. He had never heard anyone call her that before, couldn’t recall a time in which she’d ever said the word. What exactly was she the supreme of?

The springs of the loveseat squeaked as Malik sat down across from where Bakhura laid on the couch. He shifted to look at them and inhaled deeply to replenish his starved lungs. Damp hair pulled into a ponytail, they wore a lavender camisole and shorts. They tapped the arm of the couch in irritation, shoulders tense and pulled up close to their ears. Their eyes trained on the hallway down which Isis’ study resided.

“Hey, you OK?” Bakhura pushed himself into a seated position. He tried not to notice the angry chafe marks around their wrists.

Malik’s steely gaze softened as they looked to Bakhura, still stealing glances at the hallway. They covered their wrists with both hands and tucked them into their lap when they noticed where Bakhura‘s eyes kept returning. “Yeah, I’m fine... thanks for coming to get me.”

He shrugged. “Just part of my job description as a brother. I’m lucky I was even able to find you. Isis called me and said she couldn’t see you, so I had to go back to Millennium and look through their tapes and—Hey! What was with that naked guy?” He shot them a questioning look, wondering how much they truly knew about the man with whom they’d left.

The corner of Malik’s mouth pulled down. “He was a friend of Amari's. Said he was just trying to get him home when—” They paused at the faint sound of a door opening. “I’ll tell you about it later,” they whispered, attention once again on the corridor.

Ryou reappeared first, tailed closely by Isis and Rishid, and walked toward the front door. “I will keep you informed about any other disturbances, if you will do me the same courtesy.”

Though the previous ire in Isis’ eyes had dulled, she cast a weary glance upon the man before her, and then to her siblings in the living room who looked around innocently. She conceded with a sigh, voice hushed, “Yes, I will let you know of any suspicious activity on my end as well.”

He nodded and stepped down to put his shoes on. Before he had consciously decided to do so, Bakhura’s feet carried him to the front door and he stuffed his own feet into his trainers. Isis watched him with a calculated stare but said nothing.

“Can we talk?” he asked Ryou.

“Of course.”

Ryou stepped outside and Bakhura paused in the entryway as Isis grabbed ahold of his arm. “Brother, be careful.” Letting go, she left to check on Malik. Rishid slowly closed the door as Bakhura and Ryou descended the front porch. His shadow hovered against the glass before fading away.

Bakhura ducked his head and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets as he led Ryou down the driveway. He could have slapped himself for not properly preparing for _ this _talk, mind racing with inadequate conversation starters to what would surely be an awkward exchange. If the events of tonight had confirmed anything, the man following behind him now was not human and Mai—who was nowhere in sight—was probably the same type of non-human being. He didn’t think they were able to turn into animals quite like the man he had seen at the club earlier, but there was something unnatural about them both in how quickly they moved, the way they talked about simple things that spoke toward a greater secret of which they had been trying to keep Bakhura unaware. 

A familiar itch started in the center of his palm. Scratching half-moons into his skin, the understanding as to why Bakhura cared so much to uncover their secret dawned on him. The driving force of his kleptomania, his therapist told him once, was taking something that he was denied access to because he viewed keeping secrets as the root cause of his parents’ deaths. No matter how little logical sense it made, his subconscious believed that unfortunate happenstance could be avoided if he acted on his covetous nature. 

At least, that’s what she had inferred from their conversations together. Bakhura wasn’t sure how she had reached that conclusion; he simply wanted things he was told he couldn’t have and would do anything to get them. And the thing he wanted now was the truth.

This was no time to beat around the bush. Reaching the service road in front of the house, Bakhura whirled around, words tumbling out of his mouth, “What _ are _you?” 

Ryou stopped abruptly, smile morphing into an open mouth of surprise like a fish floundering on deck. His eyes flitted over Bakhura’s hardened expression, his own brow wrinkling to match the other’s concerned expression. “What do you mean?”

Bakhura shook his head in annoyance. “You know exactly what I mean. I saw you and Mai behind Millennium with that Valon guy earlier. I saw how fast the both of you ran.” He stared back into eyes that glittered like jewels, his own silently pleading to the other for sincerity.

Ryou’s eyebrows disappeared beneath his bangs. His gaze drifted away to stare at a spot above Bakhura’s shoulder and he worried his bottom lip. “Are you sure that’s what you saw?” he asked, voice low. Bakhura blinked in surprise at the melancholy lining Ryou’s voice that cracked with the threat of tears.

“Y-yeah, I’m sure,” he replied, reigning in the impatience dancing along his skin.

A tremulous smile ghosted across Ryou’s lips. His eyes refocused on Bakhura's face and the thousand yard stare shone wet beneath the flickering street lamp. Bakhura almost dropped the conversation then and there, afraid that Ryou really was going to cry and, despite his suspicions, he wasn’t aiming to nuke his prospects of a future date. Mind racing for anything that could turn the tide of the conversation, the voice wobbly with regret that drifted to Bakhura’s ears halted his placations.

“I’m sorry.”

Ryou rushed forward, both hands clasping Bakhura’s elbows to his sides in a startling display of power for his wiry body. He stood on tiptoe, pale face filling Bakhura's vision, a resplendent moon with ruddy sapphires twinkling in its surface from which he could not tear his gaze. Exhaling a cool breath over the other's dark lips, the cloying perfume sent Bakhura’s head into a tailspin. Like falling asleep, when the conscious gives way to the subconscious and the last noises of the waking world dissolve to babble, the words Ryou mumbled under his breath were indiscernible through the void of disconnect between the tangible and intangible. Five seconds, five hours, or maybe even five days, Bakhura existed only in that in-between space with no thoughts to call his own. All that existed were the eyes so blue they were the ocean, never ending and the inebriating scent of longing that distracted him from the blood staining those waters.

A voice called out across the fog. It started far off across the sea until it echoed back with such force it wrenched Bakhura's consciousness back to the forefront of his mind. Eyes snapping open, pupils dilated and alert, he looked at Ryou’s amazed face below him. He shoved the smaller man off, sending them both tumbling onto the ground in different directions. Bakhura put a hand to his temple, skin burning under his touch as the words that had returned him to the present reverberated in his head, unintelligible. The heady smell that had hynpotized him before was banished by a fresh intake of night air.

“What the hell was that!” he scrambled up and out of the street toward Ryou still on the ground.

He blinked up at Bakhura with eyes wide in astonishment. For a moment they were strange, different, but he blinked again and they were the same splattering of brown and blue. Cocking his head, cogs churning in his mind until steam practically poured from his ears, he finally arrived at the answer to his unasked question when he grumbled, “Isis.” Now Bakhura looked in bewilderment at Ryou as he pushed himself off the ground, not bothering to dust off his already dirty suit pants. 

“Are you gonna answer any of my damn questions?!” he bellowed. Following that display, and the red sheen that had faded to brown he was positive he had seen in those eyes moments before, the questions piled high, tottering and threatening to topple and give way to his impatience. 

Ryou straightened his tie while casting an annoyed glare back at the Ishtar family home. Turning to Bakhura, his face was now impassive, the carefully hardened mask of someone with something to hide. It made Bakhura's hands ache to reach out and throw open the lid to reveal the treasures of truth within.

“I cannot guarantee that I can answer all of your questions, or that you would even believe me if I told you.” Ryou cast his face to the full moon. His eyes luminesced in its radiant light. “But it’s late and I must return to Millennium. Come by at noon and we can speak then.”

Bakhura squinted at him. “And how do I know you'll even be there?”

He gulped as Ryou moved in too close too fast for him to perceive again. Ryou reached up with eyes closed this time and moved deliberately slowly. The corner of Bakhura's mouth tingled as Ryou lowered himself back down to the ground.

“I promise I'll see you tomorrow.” And then he vanished.

Bakhura made himself dizzy again as he wildly whipped his head around to find where the other had disappeared. But the stark white hair was nowhere to be found in the dark of the night. Bakhura stood alone at the end of the road, shadow stretching out like a behemoth behind him on the pavement from the bright light of the low hanging moon. Accepting that Ryou was gone and that Bakhura’s search was on hold until at least tomorrow, he turned back to the house.

Raised voices greeted him halfway down the driveway, and recognizing Malik’s annoyed tone, Bakhura jogged the last half. He stumbled in taking off his shoes as the argument continued in the kitchen.

“Why can’t you just tell me the truth?” Malik snapped. They stood on one side of the island, arms crossed over their chest and mouth twisted into a sneer. Isis and Rishid stood with their backs to the living room entrance as though Malik had ambushed them on their way to the other side. “I know what I saw, Isis. The guy turned into a freakin’ bear right in front of me! You’re telling me I imagined it?”

“Malik, I am simply saying that what you saw is impossible. Perhaps…” As usual, Isis’ demeanor remained composed and her voice matter-of-fact, but she shot an exasperated glance to Rishid standing at her side.

He nodded in agreement and picked up her line of thought. “You said that you passed out and then woke up in their house, correct? Who knows what they could have done to you at that time, or maybe they slipped something in your drink at the bar. We should be taking you to a hospital right now.” His voice echoed Isis’ own certainty while their shared looks gave each other away.

Malik’s arms fell to their side and they balled their hands into twin fists of annoyance. “I wasn’t drugged!”

“It’s true.” All three of them whirled around to Bakhura in the doorway. He caught Malik’s confused eye and stepped forward to stand beside them. “That guy you helped at Millennium, Amari's friend, I saw him before that. I saw him change too, into a panther.”

“See!” They gestured at Bakhura wildly before turning to their sister with a raised finger, jabbing it in her direction. “And they knew _ you_, Isis. They kept calling you Supreme, just like Bakura did earlier, and said you’re a witch. They said _ I’m _a witch.”

Isis’ lips pressed into a thin line. Rishid looked at her blankly, unsure of what else to say. Bakhura tried not to react to the shock that Malik was a witch, making sure they knew whose side he had chosen. The silence that followed was pregnant with anticipation for an answer.

“You are not a witch,” she ground out. Bakhura frowned at her single denial. “Enough of this conversation.” Spinning around on her heel, she walked back toward the living room.

“No!” Malik flung up a hand in rage and the air in the room grew humid, forming beads of condensation on every surface it touched. The cabinet doors swung open with a bang and drawers flew off their tracks, sending cutlery to the ground in a ruckus. The other Ishtar siblings stepped back with matching bewildered expressions. As though the small act had taken a great deal of energy, Malik’s chest heaved and a fresh sheen of sweat appeared on their brow.

“Malik!” Rishid warned but choked on the rest of his protests as Isis stepped briskly toward them. She reached out and settled the palm of her hand against their forehead as though to wipe their face clean. Malik’s eyes closed and their body fell limp.

“Malik—“ Bakhura managed to catch them before they hit the ground. “What the hell, Isis!” He glared up at her as he cradled Malik in his arms. The steady rise and fall of their chest against him suggested they were merely sleeping.

She shook her head and said, “There is so much you two do not understand about what has transpired tonight.” Turning her back to him, she gestured to the disarray littering the kitchen. The humidity dissipated as the cabinet doors closed themselves and the drawers slid back into place. It looked just as it had before, as though magic had not torn it apart moments ago.

“Here, let me take them.” Rishid took Malik from Bakhura, resting their head against his broad shoulder, and carried them toward the rooms in the back of the house.

Bakhura stood and took the same stance Malik had earlier, fists beginning to form at his sides. “So, it’s true, then, you’re a witch. And so is Malik.” Though the revelation would not be the strangest thing he had learned that night, it made sense in the context of Isis’ powers, those that he knew about and those that he didn’t, which seemed to include psychokinesis. It also seemed highly plausible that Malik was a witch if that sort of stuff was based on blood. But why would she—and Rishid who appeared to be an accomplice—have hidden it for all these years?

His hands fell slack when Isis faced him with tears pooling in her eyes. “Yes, I am a witch. But Malik should not be.” Her voice was a strained murmur heavy with regret for the lies she had told her sibling to try and keep them safe, only to fail and have them thrown to the dogs (or the bears). 

Bakhura crossed the kitchen for a paper towel and handed it to her. Guilt gnawed at his heart for making her cry but he was also unsettled; he had never seen her cry before, wasn’t entirely sure that she even _ could _ cry. If whatever mess the youngest Ishtar siblings had unwittingly stepped into tonight was enough to threaten Isis’ resolve, then Bakhura regretted ever going to that damn nightclub. Again, the normal life they had left behind rang bitter with nostalgia.

“Isis,” he started in a whisper, “what is going on? Why did you hide this?” 

But her rare emotional display failed to make her any more forthcoming. She shook her head as she dabbed at her face. “I cannot get into the specifics of it now. Rishid will need my help with…” Her voice trailed off as though just realizing what she was about to say and to whom, and she shot Bakhura a furtive look. “We can all speak about it together tomorrow when everyone has calmed down. In the meantime, I would prefer you spend the night here.”

The finality in her voice made it obvious that it wasn’t a request. Not that it mattered much to Bakhura as it just meant he had less time to wait to hear the truth from her the next day and gave him no chance to enact his plans for therapeutic thievery, a situation for which his therapist was sure to be grateful if he ever told her about all that had happened. Shrugging, he followed Isis down the hall towards his old room. He kept personal items for nights such as this when he didn’t want to return to his own apartment. Turning to look at her again, he planned to bid her goodnight but paused at the conviction that shone in her eyes, now free of tears, as she stared at him.

“Wh-what is it?”

“You are free to do as you please, Bakhura.” 

He groaned inwardly and mentally prepared himself to decode one of her famously cryptic advisories. “But?”

Isis’ mouth twitched in a subdued smile and she continued, “But I would warn you not to get any closer to Bakura Ryou. There is much about that man that you do not know and that I hope you will never know. He is dangerous, brother, and I do not wish to see you in harm’s way. Good night.” She departed to her study.

Bakhura entered his room while wading through the mental corridors of confusion that Isis had reaffirmed. Her warnings rang true in his rational mind but struck a note of discord within his emotional heart. The initial attraction that he had felt for Ryou in the darkness of the nightclub had not wavered in the light of discovery of his unnaturalness. If anything, it had grown from the nurturing of the kisses they shared and the intoxication of a mystery to be discovered and stolen away for himself. 

He was, as Isis had said, free to do as he pleased. Undressing, he slid between the covers of his bed, imagining the coolness of the fabric gliding over his body as someone else's silken touch, and gave his weary mind and body over to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah~ this chapter is a little shorter than the others but a loooot of stuff will come out in the next one, so please look forward to it!


End file.
